


My Hills, Your Hills

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Dark!Bilbo, Depression, Gen, Gold Sickness, M/M, Maybe a happy ending, Mental Instability, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Original Character(s), Past Relationship(s), Pining, Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-13 05:28:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 25,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1214416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo is banished,</p><p>But becomes the Lord of the Hillside. </p><p>Thorin becomes King under the Mountain, </p><p>But creates a monster in his wake, and his burglar may be lost to him. </p><p>Or is he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I See Fire

 

"I, Thorin Oakenshield, sentence you, Bilbo Baggins, for the crime of stealing the Arkenstone, to banishment. You have 24 hours to leave Erabor, or be killed on sight."

He had said it so well, like he'd practised in front of a mirror before the trial; making sure his face conveyed nothing. Thorin's voice had lacked its usual gruff, booming quality, and had been entirely one note, cold, calculated. The dwarf had severed himself from what he was about to do.

So that he could _cope._

But nobody ever asked how Bilbo was expected to cope.

The hobbit remembered feeling smaller then he'd ever felt, the ceiling of the throne room was as high as the heavens; purposely to make one feel insignificant. The place had been empty save him and Thorin, not even the king’s closest advisors had been present; which was odd, considering Thorin’s tendency towards public humiliation. But the echo of the King’s proclamation was surely audible all through the rock and brimstone, so every dwarf would have heard it, including Bilbo’s cries.

24 hours to leave. Or be murdered, by his friends, his company, his _One._

Had that meant anything?

Bilbo often pondered who the task would have fallen to, if he had been a fool and lingered, begging for forgiveness, like the creature of yesteryear that he had been. A soft spoken and unspoiled Baggins, with a Tookish streak. How could he still have been naïve, after what he had done, _seen_.

What a metamorphosis had occurred since.

Maybe Dwalin? He’d always disliked Bilbo, even after he’d proved himself a hundred times over there was always a lingering doubt like a spiteful spark in his eye when he looked at the hobbit. Or worse, Thorin might have sent Fili, or Kili, or both, or maybe even maybe one of the watched while the other cut out their friend’s heart. Now, that would have sent a very clear message; you do not cross the King under the mountain.

The gold hungry, stone heart king.

Bilbo was sure it wasn’t good for his mental stability to reminisce like this, but when he was alone, his thoughts seemed to scream inside his head; demanding his imagination to set them free. Every time the hobbit remembered the story was different, not by much, but some little detail was changed; depending on what mood he was in, which varied these days. When he was feeling forgiving, Thorin had a sad expression as he cast out his companion, other times (most the time) when afiery rage filled Bilbo, Thorin had been too much of a coward to pass judgement himself and had Oin or somebody else deliver the message. When he was in his dark place, he fantasised about Thorin being swallowed by the dragon’s fire.

He’d prayed for that same fire when he found himself lost on that hated mountain side. Not cold enough to freeze to death, and he’d not die of thirst for a good few days, left to linger, left to ponder. It had not been Thorin’s intention for Bilbo to lose his way, but as long as the hobbit suffered, did it matter? These thoughts, these wisps of hate scared Bilbo at first. His cheerful temper never bore such things, and they were alien to him. It was the mountain. It was poison. It had claimed his One, and had spat the unwanted Hobbit back out. Then he was lifted into the air, and carried away by men unknown. 

That must have been a year ago. More.

Bilbo opened one of his eyes, his chamber was dark, as it normally was, with only a flickering candle for reading. Hiding underground did have its benefits, but it did limit his access to sunlight, so he had to make do with what was available. It was quite ingenious really, because who would descend into the hillside in search of him? Or any of his comrades? His old hobbit hole had of similar ilk, granted much more luxurious, but still a hole in the ground no less.  Not a burrow, vermin live in burrows. A hole was a home, a nice place. Why should Bilbo wish to leave it?

The Shire wasn't his place anymore.

There were a great number of papers on the hobbit’s makeshift desk, he’d had Erabor’s letters intercepted weeks ago, and it was surprisingly easy: a mixture of theft and bribery. Dwarves did love their gold. Besides, letters go missing all the time. Not that everything his scouts brought back was of value, and they risked discovery if the mail was delayed too often for too long, but it was worth it to get just a glimpse into the fortress. Bilbo had seen the names of his old company written on paper dozens of times by now:

Bofur

Bifur

Balin

Dwalin

Fili

Kili

Gloin

Oin

Nori

Ori

Dori

Bombur

_Thorin._

 

He wasn't sure what he was trying to achieve in the long term, but with no one to question him he could do as he willed. Or get his thieves to do as he willed. They were surprisingly obedient; Bilbo took it as a compliment, as they must have found him competent enough a dictator to obey rather than murder as they’d done to his predecessors. Their numbers were growing; as Bilbo never liked to turn away anyone offering their services to him. He chuckled. They came to him, bared their neck to a rapid beast that was known to bite, and still.  Maybe all petty thieves and bandits lacked enough brain cell’s to see they were being ruled over a damaged, bitter creature. Or maybe they choose to ignore it, willing to put up with a mad queen if the hive was being fed. They’d taken him in on a whim, feeling pity on such a lost little creature, thinking nothing of it. Bilbo told them he was a burglar and was granted an instant pass to the brotherhood. All for one and one for all in the thieves' world it seemed. Bilbo quickly impressed them with his sneakiness and cunning, his hobbit feet made no noise as he walked, and his small size made it easy to slip away undetected. He quickly rose up to considerable status, and it was easy to stage a few… accidents on the mountain side to deal with any of his critics. They were a rag tag bunch really, a mixture of banished dwarves, loners, and con men, but a little organisation made them significantly more formidable. Bilbo was grateful, then cunning, then ruthless. Why not use his old skills to good use? And why not help these lost souls become great? And if he was going to challenge Thorin, he needed an army. An army of stealth.

The power was going to his head, no, had already _gone_ to his head and roosted there. But Bilbo couldn’t find it in him to care. He liked it, this feeling of elevation after being such a humble hobbit.

A burglar they had called him. No more.

Bilbo fiddled with an overly large ring on one of his fingers, the man who had worn didn’t have the need for it anymore; so Bilbo was happy to mind it for him. It dimly reminded him of something Thorin had shown him…

 

_“_ _Oh Thorin, it’s beautiful.”_

_“Yes. A thing of beauty, it was my mother’s… come here.”_

_“Thorin?”_

_“As I thought, it’s too big… why do Hobbits have such small fingers?”_

_“So we can burgle more easily. You daft old dwarf.”_

 

 

It seemed an age ago, that conversation. It was better to forget it ever happened. Forgetting everything could have saved the old Bilbo, but this Bilbo needed those memories. They fueled his wrath.

He as Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo Baggins, of the Shire, a burglar, now Lord of the Hills,  a king of thieves.

And he was after Thorin Oakenshield.


	2. Inside the Mountain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors note: Thanks for all the support so fair guys! I’ve tried to correct any mistakes XD Also, a more family friendly version of this story is available on my Fanfiction account. 
> 
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10130455/1/My-Hills-Your-Hills

Thorin never seemed to be happy these days.

Happiness, joy, delight, these felt like they were unobtainable to him, faraway out of his reach.  He should not have this way; Erebor had been reclaimed, he was home.

Saying it out load was another foreign concept after so many years of living off the land, struggling to support his family, and battling against whatever Arda decided to throw their way. Now he was here, in the halls of his ancestors, the dragon had been slain, and he should have been ecstatic; he should have found peace.

Yet, Thorin found himself with a growing unease and restlessness that no amount of distractions could quell. Balin could also sense the King’s mood, and often asked what the matter was, but Thorin dismissed him with false assurances that he was perfectly fine. His nephews also were confused at their uncle’s perpetual foul temper and brooding, and tried to cheer him up with their usual silly antics; but Thorin lacked the patience, and found himself yelling more often at the two, so they let him be. His sister was her usual straight to the point self, and told him that if he didn’t change his attitude and soar expression then they’d be having serious words.

Looking inside himself, Thorin knew perfectly well what the cause of his affliction.

The hobbit.

Bilbo Baggins was missing, and it was his doing.

Banishing him seemed like the only cause of action when he discovered the theft, the betrayal of trust, but Thorin should have seen it for what it was; an attempt to bring about peace. But he been acting under the influence of the terrifying gold sickness; that same sickness that had claimed his grandfather’s. He could hardly stand to think of Thror, it made him raw and tired.

Thorin had been blinded by all the glistening gold in the mountain and was unable to fully comprehend what he was doing. After the hobbit had left, only then did he see clearly, but it was too late.

He could never admit to his friends, also now his subjects, that he had tossed out their most fateful, kind, irreplaceable burglar… and more recently the object of Thorin’s affections.

He wasn’t sure exactly when the nature of he and Bilbo’s relationship changed. It seemed as if the events of the past few years were in constant flow and his union with hobbit just a single stream. At first, Thorin had been very underwhelmed when introduced to a very startled and reluctant burglar-to-be, who fainted when Bofur talked of the dragon.

 He was smaller than any adult dwarf, with soft features and a distinct lack of any roughness that comes from hardship. Part of the king had resented Bilbo then, a spoiled little creature, who knew nothing of their struggles. But hobbits, as it happened, were studier then they appeared to be. At least this hobbit was.

When Thorin was about to meet his end by Azog the Defiler, Bilbo with no consideration of his own safety threw himself quite literally into the white Orc’s path to protect the King, who’d until now, had been dismissive and cold. That had sealed his place within the company, and forever in Thorin’s favour. 

Their physical relations did not come until much later, and Thorin seemed to recall a lot of awkward dancing around the issue until they came to a mutual understanding. Not that he wasn’t a sexual creature; it was just that he’d had much more pressing concerns as of late.

Their coupling had been fleeting, and a bit clumsy, as neither was accustomed to having a partner with such different physical qualities, and they didn’t have time to really enjoy it too much; the next day they were in Smaug’s lair.

But there was _something_ in it. Something fiery, as if they’d been star-crossed lovers for centuries and Thorin would have moved mountains for his hobbit. There was this primeval urge within him, to cherish, to protect, to love.

On occasion, when the fancy took him, the King liked to daydream about bringing Bilbo into the heart of Erebor, and dressing him in the finest jewels, silks and furs; maybe even having his own crown forged.

The Consort under the Mountain, it would be a worthy title for Thorin’s One.

His _One._

Dwarves had great affection for each other; platonic attachments were sacred amoung Thorin’s kind. But they only ever had one great love in their painfully long life times. Only one, and if they did not meet him or her then they were sentenced to remain unbounded until their last breath.

Perhaps Thorin was hasty in his choice. But it felt as if he’d known the Hobbit for an eternity, and from the moment he stepped through the green door he and Bilbo were destined to have their fates conjoined together.

Alas, whatever could have happened between them wasn’t allowed to bloom, he’d been so carless and was paying the price for that. Guilt lined his very bones, and made him sink into his throne but the sheer weight of it.

Lying about the hobbit’s departure didn’t help matters; he’s spun some story about Bilbo needing to hurry back to the Shire for some reason or another, but that he would come back. That had felt worse than the actual banishment. Thorin knew he couldn’t solely blame the gold sickness, he was still responsible, and he knew he’s failed his burglar.

So why was it so difficult to tell the truth? Was he really so dependent on a web of lies? How long could he keep up this charade before it came crashing down on him?

Dwalin entered the throne room one morning with an urgency that interrupted Thorin’s inner monologue, and the king was momentarily startled, and he sat up straight.

“Dwalin?” he asked, frowning.

Dwalin respectfully bowed then rose again. “Sire, there has been another attack on some merchants, about a mile from here.”

Thorin didn’t need his old friend to elaborate, and he cursed inKhuzdul. Lately, there had been an unexplained surge in the amount of muggings, thefts, and attacks on dwarfs going to or from the mountain. In a way, Thorin expected some level of disruption after his coronation; he’d tried his best to being order to a group that had been nomadic until very recently. Some had picked up... bad habits, but Thorin had no tolerance for thieves. This was his kingdom, and he wasn’t going to have order.

“Was anyone hurt?”

“No, not as far we know.”

That was a relief, but Thorin still bristled at the thought of his people being attacked by those who were too cowardly to fight face to face.

“What was taken?”

“A purse containing a few gold pieces, and some silk cloth.”

Not a very hefty bounty, Thorin mused, and to attack in daylight was downright audacious. They either must have been desperate, or very stupid. The King thoughtfully rubbed his chin, considering what to say.

“Have the patrols come up with anything?”

“No sire, they say the same thing; as soon as they start to pursue one of the bandits he just disappears into the rocks. Like he was never there.”

Throin raised an eyebrow, disappearing bandits? That was new; he felt a headache coming on.

“It obvious they must have a hideout in the hills, probably with secret passages all over. That’s how they keep evading us.”  Thorin was often inclined to think the worst.

Dwalin paled and clenched his fists. “Sneaky thieving devils. They’re certainly more organised then any bandits I’ve ever seen. I’d wager there’s a whole colony of them in those hills.”

Thorin frowned at Dwalin’ sentence, a few bandits was nothing, but they were everywhere, like rats. Scuttling along the rocks just out of reach, and then running back into their hidey holes to avoid capture, it made Thorin’s Durin blood boil in his veins. There could have been a dozen, or maybe three dozen, there was no way to get an estimation of numbers.

“Keeps the patrols up, I want dwarves guarding this mountain around the clock. Anything suspicious is too be reported immediately. Everyone needs to play their part if we are to quell this pestilence, no exceptions.”

Dwalin took in the King’s words and nodded. “Will that be all Sire?”

“Yes Dwalin, you may go.”

Dwalin left swiftly, to organise a late morning patrol; leaving Thorin alone in his massive throne room. All was quiet, and still as stone. The dwarf sighed, and leant back into his chair, tapping his fingers idly against his knee.

What had he been thinking about? Ah yes, the Hobbit.


	3. Burning The Trees

_“Hobbit?”_

_“….”_

_“Hobbit!”_

_“Pardon? Are you talking to me?”_

_“Do you see any other hobbits here?”_

_“Well, I do not see any, no, but as you didn’t call my name I had no idea you were referring to me.”_

_“You’re picking up an attitude Burglar, stay away from my nephews. They are a bad influence.”_

_“Hmm, and you are not? I used to be a respectable Hobbit before you came along!”_

_“No one in all of Arda could claim you are not respectable, Master Baggins.”_

 

Bilbo’s body jolted in sleep, his old unremembered life suddenly becoming a little too vivid for him to remain asleep. Even though he was fully aware that his dreams couldn’t hurt him physically he grasped the Sting at his belt just in case. When you live in a nest of thieves, you learn to keep your wits about you. The hobbit had learned that the hard way when he first came to settle in the lair. He had many an item stolen from him, but he learned how to get them back. The Sting came in useful on those occasions.

He blinked slowly and then scrubbed his hand over his eyes, normally he slept dreamlessly, but it seemed his memories were persistent in causing him unrest tonight.

Grumbling, Bilbo swung his legs over the side of his bed and stood up; the freezing stone floor making his toes acne. His fuzzy hair of his feet was keeping most of the cold out, but even that wasn’t enough to stop the tips of his toes becoming numb. Grabbing some clothes from a heap in the corner, the hobbit dressed his lower body but couldn’t summon the energy to hunt down a shirt. He covered his most personal parts and that was just fine. Parts of him were still respectable after all.

He then lit a candle, giving his small living space a subdued orange glow.

In a strange moment, he gently slid his hand over his stomach; once bulging slightly from good hobbit living, now flat and with abs forming. He was overall leaner than the creature he had once been, with muscle replacing fat, and with that came a look of solidity where there was once clumsiness.

Bilbo stretched upward, and ran a hand through his mop of curls, now a duller shade of brownish blonde thanks to his long periods in darkness. His complexion had also changed to a slightly worrisome pale hue with dark circles around his eyes; making him look sickly.  Many on the men, elves and dwarves had a bat like quality, wide eyes, and fled from the sun.

The hobbit simply didn’t see the _need_ to venture out of doors, he ruled from the inside, sending out members of his band to complete tasks. Of course, he wasn’t _afraid_ to go out when it was absolutely necessary, but it was simply easier to remain hidden. To be honest, Bilbo didn’t like to dwell on why he didn’t leave, for fear of unearthing something he chosen to keep buried.

His mind was a volatile concoction of resentment (of himself and others), bitterness, good memories kept out of reach, bad memories allowed to fester, a deep seated note of isolation which had clung to him ever since his banishment, and this was all kept bubbling by a stoking flame of a need to see Thorin Oakenshield _pay_ for his sins. The dwarf had been allowed to rule unpunished for two long, and retribution was going to arrive guided by Bilbo’s hand, and bring the son of Thrain to his knees.

Though his heart was now several degrees below freezing, his rage burned dangerously hot. In the most secret parts of him, the heat glowed when Bilbo thought of Thorin’s eyes, his face, and his smile.

But those parts were kept at bay by the vicious mutterings of his mind. He betrayed you, he left you to die, and he must feel the pain you felt.

He never should have run out of his door.

Bilbo would have his revenge, but it was going to take _time_ , time that the hobbit was willing to wait. He’d linger here for a thousand years if he had too.

A sudden knocking at the thick, oak door made Bilbo again grab at his dagger and freeze. However, he knew that no intruder would politely knock and wait to be let in, so he marched over and unbolted the lock, grumbling at who could still be awake at this hour. At the Shire, the Sackville-Baggins’ often dropped by at the most inconvenient of moments; snooping around in their relative’s business.  He didn’t miss them.

The door creaked, and Bilbo peaked through the crack to see the face of his closest advisor, Tarvin.

“What do you want Tarvin? Do you know the hour?!”

Tarvin sighed. “I’m sorry, sir, but this couldn’t wait till’ mornin’.”

The Hobbit found it odd at first to be called ‘sir’, at least without irony, but now he expected all of his thieves to show the same respect.

Bilbo let the dwarf inside, Tarvin had at least an inch on him in height, and he’d clearly had his fair share of battles past. His right eye was cloudy and appeared sightless, his hair once red was now greying, and the flesh of his arms were covered in small and large scars. Tarvin didn’t look like the trust worthy sort, but he had an integrity that surprised Bilbo, and a brutal honesty that he found strangely comfortable in its familiarity. Or maybe the Hobbit just liked to be in a place where a friendly dwarf was nearby. Well, a dwarf that didn’t want to cut his throat that is.

Tarvin been another one of the King under the mountain’s banishment victims, he’d been caught doing something illegal, but petty… forging documents maybe?  And instantly that had struck a chord with the ex burglar, and inwardly he mused that Thorin clearly didn’t have a large repertoire of punishments.

“Well, Tarvin, don’t just stand there. What is this very important business?”

“Sir, we might ave’ a bit of a problem.” 

**_“Yes?”_ **

“Otto was caught trying to steal some dwarf’s pack, and he’s been dragged off to the mountain, at least that’s what Boggs tells me. He saw the ole’ thing, he’d gone with him but lost his bottle when the blasted dwarf fought back.”

Bilbo took a moment to digest this information, Otto was a young man from the north who had joined their band a few months ago; good with his hands, but arrogant and got under Bilbo’s skin at times.

“I beg your pardon?” Bilbo said, and had taken on an icy quality in his voice.

Tarvin shifted. “Otto, he’s been taken by the dwarves.”

“Of course he _bloody_ has!”

The Hobbit felt a familiar fire begin to ignite in his gut and to stop himself hitting Tarvin, or breaking anything of value, he began to pace around the small room.

“When exactly did this happen?”

“A few hours ago.”

“And no one thought to _inform_ me?!”

“You don’t like to be disturbed, sir.”

“I do if its news like this, Tarvin!”

The hobbit kept up with his pacing, trying to work himself out of an irrational fury, he needed to think clearly if this most unfortunate matter was to be resolved. Only certain dwarves make dictions while enraged.

“Alright – _alright then,_ can you tell me why exactly two of my thieves were out mugging dwarves when I had order the whole band to lie low? Did they not _know_ about Oakenshield’s patrols?”

“Sorry sir, I guess they got a bit restless, you know, itchy fingers and such.”

“I do not care quite frankly Tarvin, when I give my band an order that order is to be obeyed. I don’t need my thieves to be entertained, I need them to be obedient… and there are ways that I can guarantee that, ways which can be unpleasant for everybody.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Good. Now, if I know those dwarves, and I do, they’ll be questioning Otto as we speak. I doubt Otto’s stupid enough to give us away… if he wants to return that is,  but I want this place fortified immediately, no one is to go out or come in without my expressed permission and the secret passages are forbidden to be used. Send a scout to keep watch over the hill, but if something happens, they’re on their own.”

Tarvin nodded. “Sir, what shall I do with Boggs?”

Bilbo smiled humourlessly. “As you please Tarvin, now leave me, and do not come again till morning, or unless more news of Otto arises. Thank you.”

Tarvin retreated quietly out of the door, and the hobbit just as quickly locked it. When they finally retrieved the errant Otto, Bilbo was going to hang him by the ankles and flay him.

So much for a quiet night.


	4. Hollowing Souls

Kili, nephew of Thorin Oakenshield, had found that the events following the death of the dreaded Smuag to be rather perplexing, and not at all what he expected.

After the initial breath of relief at the falling of the false King under the mountain, there had come a series of celebrations worthy of his company's accomplishment. Erabor was theirs once more and there was singing, feasting, dancing and drinking; never had he seen such joyous dwarves before. The mere fact that his Uncle, brother, and friends had not been slain was a miracle within itself. He was especially pleased that their little Hobbit had not been taken by the dragon's fire. Bilbo was perhaps more subdued than Kili thought he should be, but at the time he put it down to exhaustion.

Then something rather peculiar had happened.

Bilbo disappeared.

It took maybe a day or two for everyone of Thorin's company to notice, since they all just supposed that the hobbit was off exploring the many halls of the mountain. But when Bofur had gone to Bilbo's chambers, it was void of any life, the bed hadn't been slept in and there were no clothes or possessions anywhere. Concern brewing, the dwarves had then began a search for the missing burglar. Fili hoped nothing unsavoury had befallen him, as he was very fond of Bilbo; such a caring, but determined creature.

They looked in likely places, then unlikely places, high and then low. Not so much as a hair could be found, and they only option was to go to Thorin; who might be able to shed some like on the vanishing hobbit. To be honest, they were reluctant, for the King under the mountain was only just recovering from a troublesome bout of gold sickness; so there was no telling what his mood would be.

The Durin sons entered the throne room, bowed in unison, and Fili spoke first. "Uncle? We can't find Bilbo, we went to his room but it doesn't look like it's been used. Has he gone somewhere?"

Kili could have been mistaken, but in that moment he thought he saw a flash of panic fly across his Uncle's usually stoic face, it was the kind of look akin to someone trying to find an answer they didn't have.

"… He had to go back to the Shire." Thorin finally said, looking above his nephews rather than directly at them. "He had family matters to attend to."

"... just like that? Without saying goodbye?" Kili asked, saddened.

"Maybe it couldn't wait."

"When will he be back?"

"… I do not know."

Kili wasn't sure if he was reassured by what his uncle told him, it was so unlike Bilbo to just go off without so much as a note to say where he was going. Whats more, in the following weeks The King began to curl into himself. He seemed to be keeping even his closest kin at arm's length, and had on a constant expression of discontent. Kili and Fili were especially disheartened at this development, they wanted their uncle to be happy, but whenever they tried to help they were snapped at and shooed away like bothersome pests.

On top all that, a new sinister problem arouse. More and more dwarves were being attacked and had their precious items stolen as they were travelling to and from Erabor. Of course there was always risk when carrying gold and the like on the roads, even more so if you were alone. But the sheer number of incidents was concerning, and it all seemed to be orchestrated by the same group.

This would not do.

Then, upon a sudden, Kili had the most brilliant idea; his head could hardly contain it as he rushed to tell his brother. Not only had he just discovered a way to make please Thorin, but it would also help them get a better grip on the bandits that had the nerve to attack their people. All he had to do was get Fili to go along with it.

"Uncle with have us skinned, so will Ma."

"You're always so negative Fee! This is the best plan ever thought of in the history of dwarves!"

"I wouldn't go that far… it  _is_  intriguing, But Kee, what happens if it blows up in our faces?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it! Look, if you're too  _scared_  to come I can go by myself-"

"Wait. I'll grab my cloak."

Exactly two hours later, the two brothers, grinning like cats dragged a rather stunned mugger into the throne room. The King gave them a look of regal disappointment; already frowning at whatever it was his nephews were up to.

"What is this?" he had asked.

"This." Said Kili.

"Is a freshly caught thief!" concluded Fili.

Thorin went wide eyed for a moment, then looked as if he was about to yell thunderously at the pair, then reeled himself back and instead focused his attention on the captive.

"Bring him foreword." Then, added under his breath. "I'll talk with you two later."

The mugger was dragged to the King under the Mountain's feet, and then maneuvered not so gently to his knees. His face was dripping with blood where he'd been struck to knock him unconscious, he swayed with concussion, but was lucid enough to send a hateful look at the dwarf in front of him.

Thorin was not the least bit intimated, and looked upon the wretched man like you would look upon a rat that had scuttled into your pantry.

"So, I understand you had the nerve to attack my nephews in broad daylight. You do not know how much that enrages me, whether it was their intention to catch you or not, you still put your filthy hands on my kin. That will not go unpunished."

There was a pause.

"However, before I have you locked away in the cells, you are going to tell me about your comrades out there in the hills. If you give me what I want, I might just not have you suffer for too long."

For a moment, there was quiet again, and Fili gave the thief a shake. "You will answer him!"

The captive raised his head slowly and painfully, and gave a short huff that had blood and spittle splatter onto the polished floor.

"I ain't telling you nothin' dwarf. I ain't afraid of you."

Thorin's hands visibly tensed on the arm rests of his throne, making his biceps and massive shoulders more pronounced under his furred coat. He had the appearance of a wolf waiting to pounce and devour. "Perhaps you didn't hear me. You  _will_  tell me what you know, or you already miserable existence will only become worse. I will not repeat myself again."

Kili dug his nails as hard as he could into the leather clad shoulder of the mugger, making him wince and try to pry himself free; but he had not a smidgen of hope against two young dwarves.

Spitting, the thief once again found his voice. "Whatcha goin' to do? Kill me? Pull out me teeth? Have me boiled in oil? There's nothing you can threaten me with, dwarf, cause' my lord is only one who had power over me."

Kili's uncle raised a dark eyebrow at the proclamation. "So you have a leader."

"That's right! And he's something else… he's not right in the head you see, downright  _disturbed_ , so he don't play by no code of honour, he can make you disappear without you having time to even think about running… he's as silent as a shadow on a wall because he has no footsteps, blink and you'll miss him… more cunning than any of your dwarves… and he curses your house Oakensheild!"

The man then bent over in hysterical, maddening laughter, until Fili had heard enough and knocked the fool upside his head; making him go limp in their grip. Thorin growled from his seat.

"If I wanted riddles, I would have sent for Gandalf! Lock this piece of dirt in the darkest and most damp cell we have."

Kili and Fili nodded together and began to haul the thief out of the throne room and the king's sight, but not before he briefly regained his wits to hiss out a few last words. His voice slithered down the hallway and right into the King's ear.

"He's gonna get ya… he's gonna get ya..."


	5. I hope that you remember me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Thanks again for all the love~ Also I’d like to add that Otto did play up Bilbo’s ‘madness’ in the last chapter in intimidate Thorin, because he doesn’t want the king getting any sleep at all XD

Shouting, jeering and intoxicated yells filled the air of the Hall of Thieves.  Clustered together in a large ring the members of the band watched as two of their comrades wrestled in the center. There strict rules to such an event, including no biting, hair pulling or eye gouging,  but this only applied to fighters, the spectators were free to do as they wished. More broken bones and bruises were caused from a high spirited audience than those who were supposed to be hurting each other.

From his seat, with Tarvin on his left, Bilbo watched the spectacle with an amused glint in his eye. Before, his fragile Hobbit self would have been appalled by such a display of violence and drunken disorder. But the Lord under the Hill now found a strange thrill in it.  It wasn't about who won or who lost, but rather the unscripted and vicious hand to hand and then the inevitable brawl. It was chaos, and Bilbo was supreme ruler, with the flick of his wrist he send them away to pillage, plunder, to scorch the mountain and everyone in it.

One of the wrestlers had the other by his waist, and flung him towards the Hobbit’s table; he landed just short, but he still made their goblets shake and plates shake. Bilbo gently ghosted a finger along the rim of his gold plated own goblet: It was encrusted with numerous small gems and must have been worth a fortune. Tarvin’s was silver, and beautifully engraved. Both were filled with a very potent bootlegged but surprising sweet liquor that was made right here in the Hill. When Bilbo first tried it, he immediately vomited, and felt a bit odd for quite a few hours. It tasted nothing like the ale his old company liked to drink, and nothing like the mild cider brewed at the Shire. Now he’d grown accustomed, and if he wanted something more sophisticated, he had a stash of fine wines that they’d pilfered off some unfortunate merchant.

The Lord of the Hill naturally got the best picking of everything his thieves brought back, but he actually took very little, and only ever what he really desired. He always took any fabric that was brought back; to make clothes. He’d indeed spent weeks working on the long coat he currently wore; a deep red with a white furred colour, and darker red embroidery that curled around his sleeves and silver buttons that resembled flickering flames.  He fitted his small body beautifully, allowing him fluid movement but with a flourish that gave him the look of a phoenix. How strangely appropriate; a creature who is reborn from ashes.

To be brutally honest, Bilbo _despised_ gold in all its forms.

 

_“_ _That is the Arkenstone.”_

**_“_ ** _And what is it?”_

**_“_ ** _That, Master Burglar, is why you are here.”_

 

Its value far outweighed its usefulness, being about as sturdy as rotted wood, and the trouble ordinary folk had to go through to just find a speck of it was ridiculous in itself.  The metal was nothing more than a tool used as an obnoxious symbol of wealth, and turned the most rational of beings into blind, greedy wastrels.  Bilbo himself had to wear some jewels just to keep up appearances.

As enjoyable as the evening was turning out to be, there was important business to attend too. Gripping the table, Bilbo slowly got up from his seat and cleared his throat, once. The reaction was instantaneous. His band scattered like frightened fish that had been swatted by a cat’s paw,  and took their seats so that they may hear what their Lord was about to say. It made Bilbo’s heart thumb in his chest as they all gathered around him, as if he was a great speaker of endless wisdom.

The Lord under the Hill took a slow stroll from behind the table, his feet making no noise as he walked; he only stopped when he was in the center of the room.

For a moment, Bilbo just stood, feeling more than two dozen eyes locked on only him. Taking in a breath, he began to speak.

“My friends, I hope you all are enjoying tonight’s festivities, I now morale has been low since… Otto’s disappearance.” He took a moment to look pained. “And, it is with a heavy heart that I must share with you more dark news. I do not like to do this, but I must speak honestly…” there was a pause. “The truth of the matter is that our comrade, our blood brother Otto, is probably dead.” A chain of murmuring broke out among Bilbo’s audience that grew in outrage and volume, but the hobbit continued on. “No drought the dwarves of Erabor will have questioned him, not that he will have talked easily… but the dwarves have their ways of getting what they want out of you. Then, once he was no longer of use to them the poor fellow was probably disposed of...”At this, someone threw their pitcher of ale at the wall and yelled out “Savages!”

The Lord under the Hill ignored the disturbance. “There is nothing more we can do for Otto now, but we can honor his memory by putting my plan into motion. As you now, it has always been my intention to make a move against the gold crazed king.”

Bilbo almost used Thorin’s first name when speaking of him, because to do that would open the flood gates of his unremembered past.

“ and Otto’s unfortunate demise has given us no better opportunity!” there was a hush that Bilbo had never experienced. “Instead of us having to go to them, they will seek _us_ out, but we will be waiting and we will have the upper hand. Because this is our place, and any Erabor dwarves that come here are at our mercy.”

“HERE! HERE!”

“I know there are dwarves among you tonight, some even from Erabor itself. I speak to you directly now, would you say, that the King under the mountain is a merciful leader? That life was good and plentiful? That the riches were spread equally to all the poor citizens?”

The dwarves of the company said nothing, but Tarvin spat on the floor.

“I didn't think so. Now what about the elves here tonight, Oakenshield hates your kind, for what reason? Only because your leader refused to shed the blood of his people, and now he takes his rage out on all elves. Elves that weren't even _born_ when the dragon had settled in Erabor.”

The few elves that were present nodded.

“As for myself… I have had my own dealings with the King under the Mountain. It was not a pleasant experience, but in a way, I should thank him, for if I’d not been taken from my Hobbit Hole I wouldn't be here talking to you!” he let out a low laugh.

“But let us be serious. There is great treasure and wealth to be had in that mountain, but those dwarves hoard it for themselves, not unlike the dragon that they defeated. They are entitled, gluttonous, and do not think about the needs of others. I have seen what happens when somebody is fool enough to in between a dwarf and his precious gems. Now they have taken one of our own. No respect for life. Well… I say no more! The time is now, let us piece the beating heart of Erabor, and let the gold river flow by _our_ feet.”

There was a thunderous roar as the band cheered and clapped.

“We will no longer hide from sight; it’s time to reveal ourselves! And we will make the great gate tremble!”

The stamping and thumping settled into a rhythm.

A steady but load THUMP THUMP THUMP, which was a good a war song as any Bilbo had heard, and he was giddy with anticipation.

All he could see was the face of his One.

Thorin.

Thorin.

_Thorin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BILBO YOU SIT ON A THRONE OF LIES. 
> 
> JUST CALL HIM. 
> 
> SERIOUSLY.


	6. Blood In The Breeze

The King under the Mountain suddenly found himself in need of council; which was unlike him, for he was a man of his own mind. Asking for guidance was just not part of Thorin Oakensheild’s nature; he’d learned how to bare his own burdens through his various misadventures. But on this occasion, the dwarf was genuinely at a loss.

Questioning the captured thief had, at first yielded little results. The man seemed to fear nothing, for the punishment from his ‘lord’ (whoever he may be) would be far worse than whatever the dwarves could think of. Then they attempted a different tactic; and promised protection against his master if the thief agreed to slip useful information their way. Thorin hated to bargain with a common criminal, he could _feel_ his ancestors shaking their heads at him from beyond; but a wise king knows how to compromise for the greater good.

In the end, it seemingly paid off, as the thief revealed the location of the group’s hideaway in exchange for a pony, some food, and that he be allowed to leave Erabor and flee like the coward he was. He _should_ have been punished in some way, and Thorin was tempted to let Kili shoot an arrow into the vermin’s disappearing back; but now he had more pressing concerns. Merely moments later, a dwarf in a hooded cloak approached the gate and told the nearest guard that he had a message for the King under the Mountain. Then in a lightning fast flurry the figure was gone again, leaving only a letter in the guard’s hand. With haste it was taken to a confused but apprehensive king, and slowly, he unfolded the paper in his hands.

It read only a single sentence:

I am the Lord under the hill, and I request your presence, come alone.

Thorin stared at the words for some time, maybe hoping that the note would reveal more of its secrets to him. It was written in good hand, with no incorrect spellings, so the author was educated in some fashion. The ink had a slight reddish tint to it when held us against the sunlight; Thorin prayed that it wasn’t blood.  Soon, he found his rage begin to bubble at the vagueness of the message, and the fact that this… ‘Lord under the Hill’ thought that he could summon Thorin like a maid or errand boy. The greater implications of this alluded him, and he found himself puzzling over why someone who had hid themselves so well from his vision would suddenly want to make themselves known.

The King sent for an intimate council, consisting of only Balin and Dwalin and himself. Again he feels the need for secrecy, so they meet in his private chambers. Thorin paced the room while he waited for their arrival, suddenly filled with urgency but having no where to put it. The knock came as a relief to him and he ushered the two dwarves in and locked the door.

He showed the note to Balin, the he passed to Dwalin, who snorted.

“Bloody cheek.” He said, unceasing the paper with his fingers.

“It’s obviously a trap.” Balin remarked. “He must not think us so stupid.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes. “Of course it’s a trap, but… I believe he _knows_ that we know that. It’s a mind game, to see if I’m dwarf enough to venture down into his burrow.” He rested his chin on his clenched fists, elbows on the table.

“Do not bring your ego into this laddie.” Scolded Balin. “This is no petty thief we’re dealing with, he’s organised, and has a small army by the sounds of it. You’ve only just settled into your role as King, I would advise against ruining all that good work by charging headfirst into the unknown.”

Thorin’s mouth twitched irritably at being called ‘laddie’, but Balin had spoken the truth. The King under the mountain had previously paid the humbling consequences of judging a book by its cover.

Once again, perhaps worryingly so, his mind wondered far away and imagined a pair of emerald green eyes shining under golden curling hair.

 

_“…What happens now?”_

_“... That’s your decision Master Baggins.”_

_“I can’t quite believe your still calling me ‘Master Baggins’ after what we just did…”_

_“True. But I still expect you to call me ‘sire’, after my coronation.”_

_“… That is IF you make it to your coronation and I don’t throttle you first.”_

_“By all means… throttle me.”_

“Thorin, lad!”

The king was abruptly awoken from his long lost memory by Balin, who was now looking concerned, and Dwalin looked downright annoyed.

Awkwardly, Thorin cleared his throat and tried to stop the flush from rising to his face. “Pardon, I was somewhere else.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Dwalin half snapped. “I hope you enjoyed it, because now we need to get back to the task in hand.” He slammed the offending letter on the table with gusto. “Ultimately, it doesn’t matter what we say, as the choice falls to you, Sire, what would you have us do?”

Thorin let his gaze fall to the mysterious note lying there so innocently, but with an ominous energy that drifted from the written words and went straight into the King’s soul. He was being called from far away; the voice was familiar, but not.

“I leave at sunset.”

Dwalin nearly leaped from his chair. “You can’t be serious!”

“I’ve never been more serious. If this Lord under the Hill wishes to have conference with me, then I will go. I want to see the face of the being that has hurt my people, and ask him what he wants. If his intentions are known to us we stand a better chance of preparing ourselves.”

“But you can’t go alone! It’s suicide!”

“I was getting to that. Balin, if you and Dwalin are worried for me then you can ride about half a mile behind me, to watch for mischief, but you must keep out of sight. I reckon this Lord under the Hill would not like to have his terms ignored. Bring Bifer if you wish.”

The wardrobe by Thorin’s massive bed suddenly shook, as if some beast dwelling inside had just been awoken from a nap.

“WHAT THE-”

Immediately, the three dwarves brandished their swords, surely the mountain had not been intercepted whilst they were talking.

With theatrical flourish, Kili and Fili emerged from the wardrobe with the eldest brother landing on his face, and the younger landing on top of him.  There was a second or two of stunned silence with the King’s nephews trying to untangle each other on the floor.

“What are you idiot children doing!?” Thorin roared, his body still pumping with adrenaline and with his sword held aloft. “Were you trying to listen in on our _private_ discussion?!”

“Uncle!” cried Kili, and he finally got up. “We’re coming with you!”

“I was ready to cut you into pieces! What in Mahal’s name-”

“We are going with you! And nothing you can say will make us change our minds!” declared Fili, also standing to his feet.

Taking a moment to calm himself and lower his weapon, Thorin was able to understand what his nephews were saying, and he wanted to cuff the both of them.

“Absolutely not, I ought to have to both strung up by your beards!-”

“Kili doesn’t have one.”

“Oi! Yes I do!”

The King under the mountain glared at his kin. “You do not know what you say; there is no fun or adventure to be had-”

“We know!” the brothers said simultaneously, the Kili added “We helped you reclaim Erabor! Surely we can help you do this!”

“That was _different_ -“

“How?” asked Fili.

Strangely, Thorin found that he had not the words to explain. “I do have to explain myself to you; I am your Uncle and your King! You will mind me when I give you’re an order!”

Fili and Kili only looked more determined. “We are not dwarflings anymore, we know our own minds, and we will go with you even if it’s dangerous.”

The King under the Mountain was suddenly touched by his nephew’s words, Fili had the makings of a fair ruler after he was gone, and Kili would follow suit. But he couldn’t help but try to keep them safe; after all, he nearly lost them during the great battle.  Dis would cut off his manhood if anything…

Thorin sighed heavily in defeat; he looked to Balin who gave him a wink and a smile. “What I am to _do_ with the both of you… very well then, you have been warned. If you do still want to join then be ready by sunset or we will leave you behind, and for Mahal’s sake do as Dwalin says, no stunts, no heroism. _Understand_?”

The brothers grinned like a pair of weasels, and nodded, then quickly dismissed themselves before their uncle could change or mind. Or strike them. Or both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't write Kili and Fili :(


	7. Oh, Should My People Fall

Bilbo couldn't sleep that night. He did not have the time or the desire, there was just so much to get ready.

Thorin was a King after all, and he deserved a King’s welcome.

He wasn't the only one buzzing, the whole band was sharpening their swords and polishing their axes; chatting about their leader separating Oakenshield’s head from his neck. What a spectacle it would be, maybe he’d let them keep the head as a prize. They’d make him pay, oh yes they would.

The Hobbit ignored the scurrying of his underlings, they would have their fun, but the King under the Mountain was his alone. Nobody would touch him before Bilbo got the chance, and if anyone tried to defy him then they would snuffed out like a moth to a flame.

Tarvin was anxious, understandably so. Being the closest thing The Lord under the Hill had to a friend, he knew just how long Bilbo had been waiting for this moment, but wasn’t sure what was going to happen after they obtained the dwarf king. He didn’t even think his Lord knew what _he_ wanted to do. Tarvin had his own score to settle, but that could wait.

Of course, there was always the possibility that Thorin would not come. But Bilbo had dismissed that outcome, as he knew how to tempt the king into his lair with the sweet scent of a challenge. Like a bear to honey. It was a secret, but the Hobbit knew that his One loved to be disobeyed on some level, so that he could assert his authority and establish his dominance. All he needed was Thorin was to come just that bit closer, and not to be hidden by great stone walls.

The scout’s signal, and Tarvin’s confirmation was the one of the most beautiful sounds that Bilbo had heard. He was on his way.

The Lord under the mountain closed his eyes and imagined the galloping of hooves, and the flowing of the King’s dark mane in the wind… the distance between them became shorter and shorter until Bilbo could reach out and touch.

Then he was suddenly back in his dark chambers, with his hand in mid air, trying to feel something his mind had made up. Bilbo growled and hit himself on the temple; this was not the time for fanciful illusions. He also cursed himself for his reluctance to step outside and watch as his thieves sprung upon Thorin and whoever was fool enough to come with him. But no, he needed to be here, in his element, to greet the One would had betrayed him.

Time passed, and Bilbo waited, sat on his hand carved oak chair. Patience was a virtue, and he’d been waiting for so long, it wouldn’t help to wait a bit more.

He heard the muffled footsteps and grunts and groans of struggles, and the hobbit began to shake and breathe heavily with an odd type of… _fear_ , as Thorin was being dragged to his room. His courage failed him, and Bilbo began a frantic search, empting entire draws and tossing parchments all around until he found it. He slipped the ring onto his finger and the world became grey and dim.

The door was flung open and a dark haired dwarf, blindfolded, with new injuries, was thrown at his feet, along with two others; one blonde and one moose haired. His eyes widened and he gaped.

 

Fili and Kili.

 

 _No_. This was not right.

 

“What are those two doing here!” he bellowed. “I asked you to bring me only Thorin Oakenshield!”

Tarvin and another band member, quite terrified at their lord’s power of invisibility, shrank at the voice.  “S-sorry my lord, but they got in the way, we had to take them-”

“I do not care!” he roared. “Get them out! And keep them secured! DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?!”

With panicked speed Fili and Kili were grabbed with rough hands and hurried outside, Thorin called to them but they were already gone and the door once more slammed shut.

The whole scene left Bilbo trembling, with rage and other emotions, he had not intended for the brothers to get caught up in this. A flash of guilt, something Bilbo wasn’t sure he _could_ feel anymore, crossed his mind. Then he remembered who he had kneeling in front of him. The dwarf was all broad shoulders and huge arms, his face had a few superficial scratches but his entire person reeked of being recently in a brawl. His hair was tangled and flecked his red spots, several of his braids had become lose or tugged out.

For a while there was nothing but the sound of their combined breathing, as Bilbo was not going to be the first to speak. Thorin was always to the point, so it was only a matter of time before…

“Who are you?”

There it is. Bilbo let himself free.  

“You know who I am, I wrote you a note.”

“The Lord under the Hill?”

“Well, I have many names. But that’ll do.”

“Where I am?”

“My home. Don’t you like it?”

“I can’t see what it looks like.”

He chuckled. “Hmm. Fair point. But there’s not much to see I’m afraid, I’ve never had an eye for interior decorating.”

“You wanted counsel with me?”

“So _brisk_ , one thing at a time… may I call you by your first name?”

Thorin visibly stiffened. “Only if you tell me yours.”

The Hobbit cackled at that, and then crouched on his haunches so he was level with Thorin’s face. “Bargaining. How diplomatic, but I must say unexpected. You are known for your… rash decisions.”

The King under the mountain raised his head and straightened his back. “I have a temper.”

“Yes… Yes you _do_ don’t you?”

A temper was a nice way of putting it, and Bilbo felt his anger being stoked again. “You know, many of the dwarves in my company are victims of your _temper_ , Oakenshield, is banishment all the range these days?”

The dwarf set his jaw, but did not bite. It was a pity. “Is that what this is about? Are you some criminal I evicted from Erabor and know you want revenge?”

The hobbit collapsed into fits of laughter because… he’s so close and yet so far, oh he could taunt his One all day. Even in the Ring’s World, Bilbo could hear the echo of his own mirth; he sounds insane.

He collects himself. “You, you mean to say that you do not know this voice?”

“…”

“Well?” he snaps.

“… You sound familiar, but I can’t place it.”

“Oh I think you can.” He leaned in very close, so that his nose and Thorin’s were only a fingernails width away from each other.

 

_“Do Hobbits kiss?”_

 

_“Oh! Why of course we do”_

 

_“….show me?”_

 

_“All right, you cheeky dwarf…. but next time, just ask.”_

 

“But perhaps I should put you out of your misery.”  Bilbo slid his hand round the back of the dwarf’s head, who jerked at the contact, and then the hobbit slipped the blindfold off and let it drop to the floor.

At first, Bilbo didn’t understand Thorin’s confused expression, but then he remembered that he was still invisible; so his One was gazing through him at a seemingly empty room. He stepped back, and The King under the Mountain looked all about, trying to place the origin of the sound.

“What trickery is this?” he asked with unsure note in his tone, he then stood up, and tugged at his bound hands. “Reveal yourself!”

The hobbit had begun to gently caress the golden ring on his finger. “Very well, but I warn you, you may not like what you see.”  The ring slid off with ease and Bilbo was visible again.

The silence was absolute, save for The King’s whisper.

 

“…………… _no_ …….. _can’t be_ ………..”

 

“Yes. It is me, Thorin. I am the Lord under the Hill.”


	8. Confined In Mountain Halls

If Thorin Oakenshield had a grain of sand for very mistake he’d made, then he’d have enough to create his own desert. A desolate wasteland of past wrongs that the Thorin would wonder alone, tormented by an endless question of “what if?”.

Thorin had rode ahead of Dwalin’s reinforcements as planned, and following the directions given to him by the snivelling thief, arrived at a stony slope in a little known part of their territory. The slope opened up into an unassuming clearing carved into the hard earth and rock, the only odd element about it was a dark opening, a hole really, tucked away in a secluded corner. That must have been the entrance.

It was far too quiet for the King’s liking. Not even the wind was blowing, so Thorin must have made a great deal of racket when he descended. His pony champed and pawed the ground anxiously, somewhat sharing Thorin’s opinion that this was not a good place to be.

Then he was sprung upon.

Four, maybe five bandits had been crouching in darkness of the entrance, wearing black cloaks to keep themselves hidden. He was certainly outnumbered, and a small part of him wondered if it was better to simply let himself be taken, so he could conserve his energy for the meeting with the mysterious ‘Lord Under the Hill.’

Nothing seemed to be simple in the dwarf’s world however, as he heard the battle cry of his nephews as they charged towards him and into imminent danger. They took the thieves’ by surprise, but two of them were elves so had a significant height advantage and managed to wrestle the brother’s from their ponies. They fought a good fight, and broke some noses for sure, but were overpowered and bundled into dank and darkness.

Of all the possible things he expected, he never conceived that he’d be standing before Bilbo Baggins.

The Lord under the Hill.

This was a nightmare realised, every terrible, paranoid, and self destructive whisper from his mind had taken physical form; twisting something precious into something horrid. It was cruel parody that was sent to punish him.

The creature in front of Thorin _looked_ like Bilbo, but with everything familiar came many things that were unfamiliar, and frightening.

The bare feet with the delicate hair were unmistakable, a true hobbit trait. But those feet had no footsteps; those feet brought Bilbo down into this hovel of thievery and away from Erabor.

Bilbo was still small, with short limps in comparison to a dwarf, and his Halfling hands were meant for gardening and needle work. When the king looked closer, he saw gross hardening muscles where there should have been softness, and Bilbo’s hands were clenched so tightly the knuckles had turned white; before all this, the hobbit never would have struck anyone.

It was almost physically painful for Thorin to look at the ex burglar’s face. He hoped that he’d been mistaken, that his was not Bilbo Baggins, that he simply hallucinating or under some spell.

But it was fruitless to deny it any longer.

Curled hair, a button nose, and green eyes.

The expression was completely wrong. A mouth that had once smiled at him now sat in a thin hateful line, and inside beautiful emerald irises there was smouldering rage that Thorin had encountered with Azog, and the wretched Elf king of Mirkwood.

On top of all that, Bilbo just didn’t look _well_.

His cheeks were once rosy, now they had acquired a sickly pale look to them, and his cheek bones were no longer hidden under a health layer of fat. Overall the King could see that the hobbit had lost weight, even under the thick red coat, shirt and trousers his joints were too pronounced to be healthy.

It shouldn’t have been like this, Bilbo should have gone back to the Shire, where life was good, and the grass was green and there were cherry blossoms on the trees.

Apparently tired of the dwarf’s open mouthed staring, the Lord under the Hill crossed his arms and said. “You’ve never been so quiet before Thorin, It’s a bit unnerving. Have you nothing to say? For once?”

Throin had a million things to say, a million things to ask, but he found that his words wouldn’t come. His mouth was dry and every time he tried to speak his speech was blocked by a lump in his throat.

Where have you been?

What happened to you?

Why have you done this?

Didn’t you love me once?

 

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “For goodness sake, this is getting tiresome; I know it must be a shock to you, but you I refuse to talk to continue talking to myself. Say _something.”_  

 

Underneath the cool exterior there was a note of desperation, Thorin noted, perhaps in a warped way the hobbit was reaching out to him after all this time.

 

“What…what happened to you?” The question was fragmented, as the dwarf was still in slight shock.

 

The Lord under the mountain growled. “I’m not going to monologue for you, _sire_ , I don’t explain myself to anyone. Least of all you.” He snapped, then, took a step back to lean on wooden desk by the bed.

 

 “All you need to know is after you cast me out for stealing your precious Arkenstone, I got somewhat lost on my way to the Shire… then it started to snow. I would have died, but luckily... or unluckily for you, I was picked up by some passing strangers. Of course I didn’t know they were bandits until I’d been thawed… but it was almost fitting really, after all, I was a _burglar_ wasn’t I?”

 

“Why didn’t you come back?”

“It speaks! And don’t be an idiot; you know why I couldn’t return. You banished me, and threatened my life, I had no choice.”

“I-I wasn’t myself when I-“

“Yes, yes, the _gold sickness_ , that seems to be your default excuse Thorin.” For a moment, the rage seemed to subside, and Bilbo looked as if he was reminiscing in a forgotten memory.

“Maybe, maybe I could have accepted it all if we hadn’t… had that time together. If I’d known the fickleness of your affections I wouldn’t have bothered, but…” he trailed off, leaving the room thick with atmosphere.

“Was… I your first?”

Abruptly, Bilbo’s faced morphed into a wrathful snarl. “You- You filthy-!”  He came at Thorin, who on reflex shrank away. The hobbit stopped just inches from him, chest rising and falling rapidly.

He narrowed his eyes “Yes.” He hissed out, and then looked the dwarf up and down. “What a _waste_.”

The King had never felt so ashamed of himself, so disgusted by his own skin. He’d robbed his old friend of his innocence, his purity, and then tossed him aside like an old shoe when the glitter of gold met his eye.

“Master Baggins, I am truly-”

“Shush. Or I’ll have Tarvin come back in here and skin you. He’ll enjoy that, he used to be an Erabor dwarf.”

Tarvin? One of his subordinates, Thorin suspected.

The Lord under the Mountain cut off his swirling thoughts. “Your words are useless to me, always have been. You are incapable of saying what you mean. So, I’d better use a language that suits you better.”

Bilbo the produced from his belt a sword, The Sting, as it was once called. It caught what little light there was to be had in the dark chamber, and shone.

“I’ve waited a long time for this, Thorin.” The hobbit whispered, intimately. “So don’t ruin this for me, and that’ll the last thing I ask of you.”

His heart pounding, and his fight or flight responses screaming conflicting orders into his ears, Thorin didn’t have enough wits about him to try and run. Was this to be it? Was he to die here? He glanced towards The Lord under the Hill’s hands wrapped around the sword hilt.

“You, you don’t want to do this.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t take orders from you anymore.”

 _No_ , no he would not allow it. He still had his pride as a warrior, and Thorin was not going to perish without having fought tooth and nail for his freedom.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked, bracing himself. “Come at me.”

Bilbo smirked, in the gloom his canines looked like fangs. “That’s more like it. Now, finally-”

The door was then kicked open with such force that the King was knocked foreword and landed squarely on the Hobbit, who squawked in surprise and his head collided with the hard floor with a THUNK.

“UNCLE!”

That was Fili’s voice.

He whipped his head around to see his sister sons standing in the doorway clutching their swords, both dishevelled and clearly in a hurry.

“Thank Mahal! This place is a maze, c’mon! we’ve got to go!”

Both at once they grabbed Thorin and pulled him to his feet; Kili sliced through the ropes and handed his weapon to him.

“Kili, your sword-”

“I’ve got another one hidden away; you didn’t think I wouldn’t come prepared did you?”

They endeavoured to make a quick exit down the narrow dirt hallway, but then the King remembered:

  _Bilbo_.


	9. Got Too Close To The Flame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, just letting you know that I'm going back and rewriting some chapters, shouldn't take too long. ^^

The Lord of the Hills was awoken with a terrible ringing in his ears, and he could feel a trickle of wetness from his forehead. That and the fact that his skull felt like it had been cracked open by an troll, was more than enough him for to conclude that he had a concussion.

He opened his eyes and the world was fuzzy around the edges, but he could make out that the room was indeed empty. Thorin Oakenshield had escaped.

Everything had been perfect; he was going to get his revenge only to be cheated out of it at the very last second.

Deep from within, the hobbit summoned an almighty roar that bounced off the walls and echoed far into the depths of the thieves’ lair. Wobbly, he stood up and searched for his Sting; he snatched it from the ground and made for the door. This was not over yet.

The little, unassuming sword, a pen opener they had called it, would be the tool that brought forth the falling of the King under the Mountain.

His head injury made his sway so he was forced to grasp the doorframe. Bilbo growled. The King under the Mountain could be a million miles away by now.

However, some luck seemed to be on the hobbit’s side today, as when he peered down the dim tunnel Thorin Oakenshield was hurrying right towards him, having acquired a sword from somewhere. But oddly enough, when he caught sight of the hobbit he froze stock still. Blue eyes met green, and the hobbit raised his weapon to strike, but Thorin dodged easily on account of Bilbo’s vision making him see double. The Lord of the Hills then turned to strike again but the dwarf was gone, then Bilbo saw a mop of black hair disappearing around a corner.

The hobbit growled and pursued him. He had to steady himself on the dirt walls and wooden support beams every so often, but he kept decent pace; never losing sight of his One. The lair was a labyrinth of tunnels, secret passages, hidey holes, and even the Lord of the Hills didn’t know every detail of the whole place.

Eventually the side passages faded away and all was left was one long stretching corridor with a massive wooden door at its end. Out of breath and with a relentless pounding in his temple, Bilbo slowed and panted, with beads of sweat mixed with blood pouring down his face.

Thorin heaved with all his dwarf strength to move the door’s rusted bolt, giving Bilbo enough time to stalk closer and closer. He felt like a snake cornering a small helpless rodent in his burrow, slithering up the inescapable tunnel lured by the pulsating heart and heat of his prey.

He roared when the dwarf got the door open, and driven by the adrenalin now pumping through his small body to combat the pain and exhaustion; Bilbo took a run and threw himself at it. The next thing he knew he was flying through the air and landed on his face; tangled in chairs other assorted objects.

 _“Ow.”_ He mumbled. He really needed to invest in softer flooring.

The room he’d crashed into was actually used for storage of goods that his band had liberated from their previous owners and hadn’t gotten around to sharing amongst themselves yet. There were piles upon piles of various knickknacks, some valuable, some not so much. But all were illuminated by a single strong ray of light shining through a hole in the ceiling. In his distant memory, Bilbo was reminded of great stacks of shimmering gold and a great booming voice that wanted to burn him alive.

He tried to rise from being entangled from a set of chairs with some dignity, but was in reality too far gone in his thirst for blood to care if he looked like a dolt.

Where was Thorin?

 “What have you done to yourself?”

Speak of the devil.

Thorin had whispered hoarsely, his fingers were twitching, almost as if he was resisting the temptation to caress his One’s face. Bilbo must have looked an absolute wreck; the blood had dried leaving disturbing tracks down his cheek, and his curls were damp with sweat.

The Hobbit gave him a long, steely look. “Nothing you didn’t do to my heart first… now, be a good chap, and stand _still_.”

With nowhere to flee, and with battle inevitable, Thorin rolled his shoulders and moved so he was holding his sword in a perfect defensive position. His expression was pained, and sympathetic. It made the Lord under the Hill’s hate flicker and lick at his insides. 

 “You fool of a dwarf. I have put your life in peril, I have threatened your kingdom and kin, and I at this moment I want to split your royal throat. Yet, you run like a coward. We have both changed.”

“I am no coward.” Thorin said through clenched teeth, and Bilbo saw at last a familiar anger radiating from him. “And I am _fully_ aware of the trouble you’ve caused me. I have just as much right to slit _your_ throat, you thief.”  

“Then why do you flee from me?”  The hobbit asked with genuine confusion.

“Because... because I don’t think you really want to do this, and I don’t wish to harm you. But I will defend myself if I must.”

The Lord under the Hill snorted. “Well then, _My King”_ he said dripping with sarcasm. I hope you’ve been practising.” 

Bilbo was tired of talking, and he lunged at the dwarf.

Thorin had his wits about him, and blocked the first couple of angry swipes without having to move his feet. But Bilbo had improved since last they met; even impaired with a troublesome head injury he had become a formidable fighter. They key was be on constant attack, and peck away at your enemies defences until they exposed a weakness.  Then make them pay dearly for that weakness.

There was a hesitance in Thorin’s movements that infuriated the hobbit; he was holding himself back instead of glorifying in a match between equals. He jumped out of Bilbo’s reach, hopping around the littered floor like a hare in a tall grass field.  Occasionaly, he grabbed whatever was in reach and lobbed it in the hobbit’s general direction.

After one too many jewellery boxes to the face, the Lord under the Hills had reached the end of his patience. Using a chest to propel himself into the air and with his Sting held above his head brought it crashing down on the King; who only just managed to save his neck by throwing both hands in front of his face.

The Sting’s edge cut through the dwarf’s left hand, leaving a deep, bright red and angry cut that began to ooze all over the ground. Thorin yowled in pain and clutched his hand to his chest.  The blood dribbled all over his front, and the dwarf took a long considering look at his wound before his gaze returned to Bilbo.

His eyes were dark and troubled. “You’ve changed, and not entirely for the better, Bilbo Baggins.”

The hobbit was going to spit a retort at Thorin but then he fell silent with the realisation that he had heard those words once before.

Upon a sudden a list of names seemed to spring forth from his past and float in front of his eyes.

Bofur. Dwalin. Balin. Nori. Ori. Bifer. Kili. Fili. Oin. Nori. Bombur. Gloin. Bifer.

_“Blunt the knives, bend the forks,_

_Smash the bottles and burn the corks_

_Chip the glasses and crack the plates_

_That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!”_

Gandalf.

_“Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light.”_

 

He saw a hole in the ground, different than this one; it was smaller, warmer. There was his chair, and his books and the kettle was whistling in the kitchen. His old dressing gown was hung on up on its peg, old but still cosy and embraced him like a brother every time he wore it.

His mother and father, long dead were standing by the letter box, smiling, welcoming him home.

He stood in a daze as his body and mind seemed to become separate entities, and in desperation he tried to focus on the coolness of the Sting’s grip but even that deserted him.  

He imaged a hand grabbing his arm, and then the walls came crumbling down.


	10. Hold fast and we will

In hindsight, maybe going back wasn’t the best plan Thorin Oakenshield ever had.

It was as if his mind at been absent when he’d been dragged down into this filthy burrow and then attacked by a mad hobbit.

The whole business was surreal. The memories he had of his old friend and the new reality of what he’d become were so different and disturbing that he refused to accept anything had changed. He was selfish that way.

A mantra had begun to spin around and around in his brain and clouded his common sense:

Bilbo is down here somewhere, find him… find him… _find_ him.

 Perhaps being so close the hobbit after so long reawakened his old fiery passions, the need to be with his One taking over him as it had before the gold sickness.

Of course, when he heard the howl, and then was confronted by a bleeding, rapid looking Halfling he had to drastically reconsider his strategy. He was ashamed to admit that all he could think to do was run around the nearest corner and pray that Bilbo would peruse him.

Lure him away… go somewhere quiet… this ends here.

But even though it was all part the King’s plan, it began to feel like he was really fleeing for his left, especially when he could hear Bilbo’s furious footsteps and growls just behind him. The small creature snapped at his heels like a fox trying to catch a rat by his dangling tail.

For the first time in a good while he was scared, and he didn’t dare to turn around.

 He thought the big wooden door would be a protective barrier, but nothing was immune to Bilbo’s rage at this point. Thorin was familiar with the feeling of being consumed by anger, to be completely filled with it until you are blinded by its white hot burning and then to wake up and see the destruction caused.

Destruction, no desolation, something had desolated the hobbit he once cared about. He did his best to avoid coming to physically blows, but he was forced to protect himself when Bilbo finally unleashed his wrath onto him. Whoever had taught him had done well, his technique had vastly improved, and so _vicious_.

The spilling of his blood had caused him more pain than just what he physically felt. It was the nail in the coffin, the severing of his last string of hope that Bilbo could be reasoned with.

His One, his good, kind one would have never raised a sword to anyone or anything if he could help it.

This… creature that had Bilbo’s face and voice was not the hobbit that had bravely left the safety of the Shire and gone on a dangerous quest on Thorin’s whim, who despite being told that he wasn’t part of company proved to be one of the loyalist being’s Thorin had ever met, and who time after time put the needs of others over his own.

That Bilbo was gone now, nothing more than a sweet memory or a dream.

He would grieve properly for his burglar later, but now he had to defeat the thieving Lord under the Hill. Any reservations fell away and The King was now ready for a real fight.

Then Bilbo had what one would call… a funny turn.

Thorin must have said something, he wasn’t sure exactly what, one minute Bilbo looked ready to slit his throat then his eyes clouded over as if in a trance. For a few tense seconds he just _stood_ there, having a hard time not falling off to one side the King was sure due to a nasty looking head injury. 

Confused, worried, but still cautious Thorin called out the hobbit’s name, but got no response. As gently as he could, he reached out and grasped Bilbo’s arm in an attempt to rouse him from his stupor, but he didn’t even blink.

Dwalin picked that moment to fall through the ceiling.

With a cry of surprise Thorin tumbled backwards but came up a cropper with one of the many chests and fell flat on his back. He could hear Dwalin’s low grumbling and swearing as he’d been apparently fighting an enemy but missed that chance of cutting the devils head off. For the first Time the King could properly hear what was going on above his head.

The clashing of swords and howls of terror and pain filled the room; Dwalin must have attacked the lair when Thorin and his nephews were dragged inside. The king thanked Mahal for his Right Hand’s battle savvy skills.

“My King!” Dwalin looked very relieved to see him. “By Durin’s beard your safe! I was sure these rats would have gutted you by now.” He got up and went to Thorin’s side. “Are you injured? I see blood.”

“It’s just my hand, I am unharmed otherwise.”

“You have no end of good luck, Come on ! we must help the others.”  Dwalin hauled the smaller dwarf to his feet, but then huffed. “I don’t know if we can get out the way I came in.” He peered at the new hole in the crumbling earth ceiling.

Thorin took a moment to straighten himself up and check for any new hurts, when he found none, a spark of realisation hit him.

Where was Bilbo?

Frantically, Thorin turned about the storage room, searching, but the Lord under the Hill had simply vanished. In his irrational fury he began to tare around the place, overturning boxes and kicking over great piles of junk in vain to discover Bilbo’s hiding place.

“What’s gotten into you?” questioned Dwalin.

“He-He was here, the Lord under the Hill.”

“What?” Dwalin widened his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I’d think I’d know if I were fighting an invisible enemy!” Snapped Thorin, and picked up a random goblet from the floor and hurled it against the wall. It clanged on contact and made an unpleasant high vibration that made the dwarves’ ears sting.

Dwalin sighed in exasperation. “This is foolishness!”

The king was seized by his shirt and dragged by Dwalin towards the opening above them. The bigger dwarf bent down so that Thorin could climb onto his shoulders, he stood up carefully and kept them steady. But Thorin found getting a grip on the earth near impossible, the more he grabbed at the ceiling the more dirt just slipped through his fingers and landed by Dwalin’s feet.

Then a helpful extended itself out to him, accompanied by a cheery “up you go laddie!”

Balin.

Soon Thorin was pulled from the dark hole and into the light, and he winced when he brightness caught his eyes. How long had he been down there? The white haired dwarf grinned at him.

“Now, let’s get my beast of a brother up.”

“I _heard_ that.”

The King balked at the notion that he was to be lowered into that dank pit once more but they couldn’t have left Dwalin there to rot. Once he too was free, they didn’t have time to brush the dust from themselves as with a cry they were thrown back into the fray.

The clearing pulsated with the cries of ponies, the cries of dwarves and thieves, and the metal clang of weapons. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the blonde hair of Fili quickly followed by Kili, and the king deeply resented bringing his sister son’s into this mess.

His people were holding up well, but doubtless there would be consequences for this. Thorin just prayed that nobodies life should end hear, at the mercy of some common criminal’s stolen blade.

Speaking of which.

He quickly scanned the small battlefield, looking for the golden brown curls and bare feet of Bilbo. But it could not easily make out each individual within the mass of fighting bodies. For now, he was content to assure himself that he would no doubt lay eyes on the Hobbit before this battle was won.

But right at this moment, he needed to defend his kin.


	11. Watch the flames burn auburn

“I’d think I’d know if I were fighting an invisible enemy!”

Bilbo could have cackled then, but would have given away his hiding place.

The ring proved to be most useful in these moments, when he needed to make himself vanish. Of course, by now he knew full well it wasn’t just an ordinary magic ring; it had power, great power, the kind that corrupts you. Not that a bit more darkness would have made much of a difference to the hobbit at this point.

He watched; seething as the big oaf Dwalin (who nearly landed on top of him) hauled Thorin out of the lair and into the piercing, painful sunlight. Bilbo resisted the urge to hiss like a scalded cat when the room was illuminated. Putting on the ring did dim the effect, and the hobbit was glad of it, but the brightness still bothered him; made him… afraid.

But seeing Thorin’s feet disappearing into the world above and the prospect of having this whole operation come to naught was enough to give the Lord under the Hill a final surge of confidence. Creeping like a spider, and as silent as a shadow, he quickly left the store room.  After turning a few lefts and a few rights he can to a stone wall. He felt along the creases delicately with his fingers until he found the right brick. He pushed it gently with his palm; the wall shifted and gave way to a narrow shaft leading upwards.

Bilbo’s small size came into its own, but he was still forced on his hands and knees. Sticking the Sting back into its sheath on his belt, he crawled up the shaft; getting his beautiful red coat covered in dust and soil.  But there was no time to worry about such things now. The old him used to fret constantly about handkerchiefs, brass buttons and all manner of ridiculous things.  

This new, not necessarily _improved_ Bilbo didn’t mind getting his hands dirtied.

At the tunnel’s end, a boulder had been moved into place to disguise the opening; Bilbo manoeuvred himself so that he could give the rock a good hard kick. It rolled away, and the hobbit emerged from the underground.

He found himself precariously balanced on a cliff edge, stones shifting and rolled away as he moved. Those fighting took no notice, being too preoccupied with the current skirmish.

 The sun was too bright, too big, and it was burning a hole into his skin. His soul.

He threw his arms over his head in an attempt to block its rays, and scrambled down the slop in search for some sort of cover. The hobbit’s body was shaking.

He weaved in-between unaware, dwarves, men and elves, until he came to crouch behind the body of a pony that’d been slain during the brawling. Bilbo felt a small tingle of guilt as he remembered fondly of Myrtle; who had been his first friend when the journey to Erabor began. He spotted members of his old company, the massive axe swinging Dwalin, the old wise Balin, the clever red haired Nori, and of course young Kili and Fili who were being guarded by their Uncle with ferocity.

Watching them brought a wave of nostalgia over the hobbit, seeing them fight as they used to brought forth pictures in his mind of happier times. Even when they were in mortal danger, he had them, and they had him; but most of all they had Thorin. The dwarf always managed to look regal and impressive when duelling, covered in scratches and blood, he still pulled off the air of a King. Bilbo watched him keenly as he fought his way through each of his thieves with what looked like effortless ease. So, the warrior had not left him, which only made The Lord of the Hillside more infuriated. The warrior was there, but he wouldn’t do war with him!

A cry from his right caught his attention, and he saw of a young dwarf with stubble drawing his bow from atop of a boulder; Kili. He was aiming at another burly flame haired dwarf who had his brother pinned to the ground.

“ _No_!” The hobbit’s shrill call was lost in the great clamour of noise in the clearing, but was load enough for Tarvin to turn his head around only to see nothing.

A fatal mistake.

 The arrow pieced Tarvin’s side and he gasped in pain, his limbs trembled and finally he keeled over. Fili pushed himself out from underneath him and ran off his brother in tow.

The need for invisibility irrelevant now, Bilbo frantically removed the ring and rushed to the side of his deputy, his friend. Tarvin was spluttering and blood was pouring from his mouth and gushing from his wound.

The hobbit could only think to try and stem the flow, but the arrow prevented him from pressing down fully; and he knew better than to try and remove it. Tarvin’s face was quickly draining of colour, and was slipping away faster with each minute, but in vain Bilbo was trying to prevent what was coming.

“T-Tarvin!”

His emotions were spilling from his eyes.

“I’m sorry… I tried.” The dwarf said gutturally, barley able to keep the shake out of his voice.

“Shhhh, don’t talk.” Ordered the hobbit, hands quaking over Tarvin’s side.

Tarvin opened his mouth but all that came out was a strangled moan and cough, his words had left him.

The hobbit stayed there for quite some time, unwilling to let Tarvin leave the world all alone.

Eventually, the dwarf’s breathing became shallower and shallower, until his chest became still. His eyes became glassy and lifeless, and started sightlessly ahead. The wound still dripped, and the red liquid had begun to be absorbed by the ground beneath Bilbo’s feet.

It was over.

_“Hey, little bit, are you alright?”_

_“C-cold”_

_“Yeh, it’s a long walk, but hang will ya? I aint carrying you all the way back to ave’ you die on me.”_

_“W-why?”_

_“Shush, but don’t sleep… it won’t be sleep.”_

 

With a blood soaked hand the hobbit gently closed Tarvin’s eyelids, and said a silent prayer that his soul would go to a nicer place.

 He would not let his friend be fresh pickings for the crows, but he could not bury him now. His band was losing, and Bilbo needed to get them out, as one last favour to them all.

He searched the dwarf’s pockets, until he found a silver whistle; he placed it between his lips and blew as hard as could. The sound was lofty and almost musical, and drifted through the air and beyond.

His band heard the call and stilled, uncertain, then Bilbo blew it again, and a great there was a great exodus. Every able bodied thief grabbed their ponies or simply made a run for it, scrambling up the rocky slope, falling over each other to get away. Thorin’s dwarves looked astonished as their enemies suddenly decided to up and leave, some gave chase, and others shot warning arrows; telling them in not so polite terms not to come back.

“Look at them running, Fee!” A jolly voice exclaimed from somewhere.

“We let you off easy this time! Show your faces again and we’ll cut your ears off!” another voice joined in the fun.

The calls of the two princes made ice crystallise in Bilbo’s veins, and it only became colder when he looked over Tarvin’s still face.

He should have ridded himself of those two _pests_ when he had the chance; he had tried to be merciful, but that had come back to bite him.

The Durin line was nothing but trouble, riddled with gold sickness and entitlement. Thror had passed his curse to Thrain, then him to Thorin, and it would continue with his nephews. Thankfully Thorin didn’t have any sons.

“Don’t worry my friend.” Whispered the Lord of the Hill. “They’ll pay yet.”

Bilbo unsheathed The Sting, and took a look at his reflection in its blade. He didn’t recognise his own eyes; they were cruel eyes.

But fate had been cruel to him, so perhaps it was only just to return the favour. The brothers’ laughter rattled around the stony walls of the clearing, and Bilbo, leaving the body of Tarvin for now, let his ears guide him to the dwaflings.

Maybe the day wouldn’t be wasted after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erm... please don't hate Bilbo, he's not very well mentally, and he's just lost the only friend he's had since he was banished. Its not OKAY what he's doing, but there's a reason.


	12. Desolation comes upon the sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about all the dialogue, I promise there will be more action in the next chapter.

Kili gave a gleeful whoop as he saw the last of the thieves disappear out of sight, fleeing like the cowardly rats they were.

From atop the cliff edge, Kili and his brother had a good view of the pseudo battle field, and were very thankful that none of their friends had fallen today. It had been close though, and there were injuries that needed to be tended to.

Considering how the day started, it had turned out pretty well form them all. They’d vanquished a new enemy with a minimum amount of bloodshed, which is how Kili liked it; he happy to use his bow when necessary, but like his brother preferred more peaceful solutions.  

He heard Fili’s laugh from behind him and he went to embrace him.

“Corr Fee! that was _brilliant_! We should get kidnapped more often!”

Fili chuckled. “I don’t think that would be good for uncle’s health.” Then he frowned. “Odd though, what happened down there.”

“What do you mean?”

“When we dragged before the Lord of the Hillside, I heard him say ‘get those two out of here’… he seemed to know us, Kee…”

Fili wrinkled his nose in thought. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, and, it might have just been me-”

“Probably was.”

“Shut up. But I could have sworn I’ve heard that voice before.” The golden prince shivered. “Maybe in my nightmares.”

Kili gave his older brother a shoulder squeeze. “Well, let’s hope we never have to hear again.”

“Terribly sorry dears, but I’m afraid I can’t oblige.”

The voice was on the surface silky, but had an undertone all things sinister; like the slither of a snake before you hear the warning rattle.

The two dwarves stiffened for half a second, and then Kili drew his bow and Fili joined his side with his sword in hand. They scanned the rocks frantically, trying to find the one who had spoken.

“Who’s there?” demanded the youngest brother.

Kili could hear the light patter of feet on stone, and the flutter of a something… a coat or cape maybe, but still he and Fili were quite alone on the ledge. It hadn’t been a trick of the wind, or the strange call of some animal, they had _heard_ someone talking.

They both held their breath, and Kili’s hand gripped his bow so tightly that he was sure to get splinters. Fili’s heart was beating so fast that his brother could feel it pumping as their arm’s touched.

There was another shuffle of movement, then, from behind a corner came an unlikely looking small creature. He was bare foot, with curling hair on his head and growing from his ankles to his toes. His hands were red with blood, his own or someone else’s, and in his right hand he was clutching a miniature sword: a very familiar looking miniature sword.

The two dwarves recognised him instantly, for it had only been a year and a half.

 _“Bilbo?!”_ They cried in unison, utterly shocked. This was the very last thing they expected.

Fili let out a bark of laughter, and lowered his weapon. “By _Mahal_ Bilbo Baggins! How did you- when did you-“

Kili threw down his bow. “Who cares! _Bilbo!_ ”  

The young prince with a mile wide grin went to embrace their hobbit friend, for he had missed him a great deal, but was stopped by the Sting’s tip being pointed at his chest. It was so unexpected that Kili almost stumbled sideways.

“Bilbo?” he questioned, smile turning uncertain. “What are you doing?”

Kili searched the hobbit’s face for an explanation but Bilbo’s expression gave nothing away.

“That’s fair enough I think.” Said the hobbit coolly. “I can see you perfectly well from here.”

Kili took a step backwards, so that he was no longer directly in front the pointed end of Bilbo’s weapon, Fili shuffled uncertainly behind him.

“Bilbo, it’s _us_.” Fili insisted, puzzlement in his speech at their ex burglar’s behaviour. Surely Bilbo must not have forgotten them; it hadn’t been so long since they had seen each other.

The hobbit’s mouth twitched. “I know who you are, trust me, you two are quite _unforgettable_.” There was hostility in his words that Kili had never heard from Bilbo before, and it made him rather nervous.

“Umm... alright, where have you been?”

Bilbo raised a brown eyebrow. “Surely you… _Oh._ He didn’t tell you did he?”

“Tell us what?” Fili asked. “Who’s he? Not Uncle?”

Bilbo smirked toothily. “You always were very perceptive Fili; the ‘what’ is the reason why I had to leave.”

“Uncle told us you have family business back in the Shire.” Kili was at a loss.

“Thorin does a lot of _lying.”_ Bilbo growled under his breath. “Look what its come to…” For a moment the hobbit’s attention seemed elsewhere, like he had wondered to a place that the brothers couldn’t see.

“I still don’t understand-”

“Kee-”

“Bilbo-” The dark haired prince tried to go to Bilbo, but was again stopped when the hobbit held his weapon out in front of him.

“That’s far enough I think.”

“Why are you being like this?!” Kili demanded. “Bilbo, we’re your _friends!_ Whatever Uncle did we can fix it-“

“You can’t fix anything you stupid _child!_ ” roared the hobbit, and Kili retreated, and Fili took up a defensive position, shielding his brother from the furious Bilbo.

“Kee, pick up your bow.” Order Fili.

“But Fee-” protested his brother.

“Do it!”

Kili did as he was told, and retrieved his bow from the ground, but he did not take aim. Fili on the other hand, braced himself.

“At least you have enough sense to take up arms when a threat comes your way.” Bilbo smiled, a flicker of his old gentleness coming through. “You’ll be a fine king someday.”

Fili was taken aback, but seized the opportunity to talk to Bilbo while the hobbit seemed to be acting as he used to.

“Bilbo what happened to you? How did come to be here?” he pleaded, desperate for answers.

Beside him, Kili’s eyes widened. “Did they capture you too?”

Bilbo let out a cold, high laugh that did not match his stature. “Close, but no cigar I’m afraid.” He ran his finger along the ridge of the Sting. “As charming as this reunion has been, and that’s no lie, it had been _good_ to see you both; I have a score to settle.”

His face grew menacing and his eyes became dark and unfeeling. “You murdered one of my followers, my subordinate, and he was twice the dwarf your Uncle with _ever_ be. I wish it didn’t have to come to this, but I can’t be at peace until I have given my dues.”

With that last word, the hobbit began to slink slowly towards the pair of dwarves, who in silent shock, only could back away.

“Please don’t run, I’ve waited long enough now for my fight, Thorin has chosen not to duel with me… so you two will have to suffice. I’m sorry for this.” Bilbo’s voice was indeed regretful but that effect was surely diminished by the fact he was approaching the princes with the intent to do them warm in some way.

The wind whistled loudly, and cut right through the three beings on the ledge, but the cold was nothing compared to the chilly dread in Kili and Fili’s hearts. They were cornered, but they did not want to harm Bilbo.

“DO NOT TOUCH THEM!”

The booming cry of Thorin Oakenshield made the stones quiver, as he appeared to have scaled the rock face to get to the hobbit and his nephews. Without delay he rushed at Bilbo, who didn’t have time to move out of the way.

The black haired dwarf seized the front of the hobbit’s clothing as they had a brief scuffle before they came precariously close to the edge.

“No!” Fili cried, but it was too late.

Thorin’s weight over balanced them, and in almost slow motion Bilbo lost his footing and fell. He howled and grasped at thin air, Thorin followed him shortly after his blue eyes wide with surprise, and they both went plummeting downwards.

Fili and Kili screamed and almost threw themselves after the two, and then they heard the splash.

They looked over the edge, and saw that a deep rover cut through the hills. They watched helplessly as the shapes of Thorin and Bilbo were consumed by the rapids and quickly washed away out of sight.


	13. I Will Cover My Eyes

The water was freezing cold.

The shock of it made Thorin gasp and he was swallowed up then he promptly sank like a stone to the river bed.

Dwarves, it should be known, were dense in bone so were more likely to sink in water than other races.

The king was swirled around in the wet darkness, his ears and eyes being filled by the river and disorientating him. He was simply a ragdoll to be tossed around as the current pleased. His body collided with rocks and other debris, tearing his clothes and skin.

It was cold, so very _cold._

He needed to get a grip, to focus, if he didn’t work out which way was up soon than he would surely perish. But the King’s sheer force of will, his refusal to let himself _drown_ of all things, made his limps begin to fight against the water’s raging rapids

After everything he’d been through, Azog, Smaug, Gold sickness, to die here would be downright shameful.

From above him, Thorin could make out a sliver of light that had penetrated the murky river, showing the way to reach the surface and hope welled up inside his gut. Now all he had to do was swim for it.

His attire and sword made him heavier, so Thorin had to kick twice as hard. His vision started to blacken, and his chest was tight from the lack of oxygen, but he was so close.

He burst from the depths like a crazed fish, and opened his mouth wide to take the biggest gulp of air he’d ever taken. He was not out of danger yet, he could still go under and not be able to resurface.

The water continued its assault on him, and the King saw that he’d be carried a good distance from where he and Bilbo fell.

_Bilbo._

Thorin spun around to try and locate the hobbit, if he had not already sunk to his watery grave. Dread set in, as he called Bilbo’s name and looked all around but could not see anything except rushing rapids.

Then, by Mahal’s will or some miracle, the hobbit emerged only a few feet away from Thorin, spluttering and floundering; having great difficultly trying to stay above the surface. All the angry vengeance had gone, and the only thing on his face was sheer terrified panic.

The dwarf tried to swim towards the drowning hobbit, but he was struggling against the strength of the river, which seemed insistent on keeping them apart. With a defeated cry Bilbo disappeared from view, and Thorin followed him back under the surface.

He tried grabbing for the hobbit’s hand, but the smaller creature was limp and was sinking deeper and deeper with each second. The dwarf followed, ignoring his own bodies cries of protest.

Deep in a quiet, but very dark and poisonous part of his mind a voice whispered to him:

Let him go.

It’s too late.

Save yourself.

It was the same voice that nested in his ear when he was enchanted by Erabor’s riches, the same that told him that his friends were spies for the elves and that his One was a dirty thief.

But Bilbo was _his_ thief.

Thorin let out a silent scream and fought with all his power until the hobbit’s floating form was in reaching distance, he seized Bilbo by the waist, and, once again filling the effects of holding his breath for too long, clawed his way to the surface.

They burst out, water slapping them in the face. Bilbo was a dead weight, unconscious in Thorin’s arms which made it all the more difficult to try and swim. The dwarf knew he couldn’t keep this up forever; either they had to scramble on land or be washed away by the river.

To his enormous relief, up ahead he could make out a dirt bank, now if only they could get to it.

The king felt as though his last reserves of strength had been sapped from him, and it would be so easy just to let himself by dragged along by the river, to be consumed by it.

But _no_ , it wasn’t just his life in the balance; it was Bilbo’s too, and he would not be responsible for losing the hobbit _again._

The dwarf fought hard, painfully hard, until the water around the two became swallower and the current began to ease in its ferocity. Heaving a heft sigh, Thorin dug his fingers into the soft river bed and all but crawled onto land with the hobbit on his back.

He flopped down on the dirt, utterly spent, his chest pumping.

The dwarf was soaked, and his hair was now slick with mud. He wiped his hand on his face, no doubt spreading more bed all over himself but he was beyond caring. Thorin got up stiffly and checked his body for injuries, he felt no broken bones but he was going to be very, very sore later.

Next to him, Bilbo lay still, not even breathing, his lips blue.

Thorin tore over to him, mad eyed. “Don’t you dare die!” he bellowed “Not after all that, we’re not finished –you don’t get off that _easily!_ ” He was raving, and his teeth were chattering.

The hobbit remained motionless, and the dwarf desperately tried to remember what Oin had taught him years before as he started to push downwards on Bilbo’s chest.

How long was he to do this for?

Was he doing it too hard? Not hard enough?

Was Bilbo already…

Thorin grabbed Bilbo’s face and crashed his lips against the hobbit’s; trying to breathe life back into him. Bilbo tasted like water and spit, and it was nothing like kissing him when the smaller creature was awake.

The king pounded on Bilbo’s chest over and over again, until he was quite sure he may have broken a rib. He continued to force his air down the hobbit’s throat, until he had no more to give.

He looked Bilbo all over, hoping for any sign that he lived. But he remained still and silent.

No.

 _No_ , this just wasn’t fair. Why must he be punished in this way? He wanted to weep, he wanted to shriek and cry and tear his hair from his head-

From beside him, Bilbo made an awful gurgling sound and he coughed up water which dribbled down his chin.

He was alive.

Thorin let out a sound that was cross between a laugh and sob, and he looked up towards the heavens and spoke directly to his maker. “Not funny, at _all.”_

Cursing in Khudzal, he gave Bilbo his full attention, who was indeed breathing, but his face was paler than snow and was barely conscious. He was also frozen to the touch.

Thorin gathered up the hobbit in his arms and winced, he was all bone, and worryingly light. The dwarf wondered if Bilbo had any spirit in him left to survive the night.

They were both freezing, and as Thorin started to walk his sodden clothes were weighing him down and probably only making him colder. A fire would certainly improve things, but the dwarf would have to leave Bilbo alone in order to search for fuel and could not take that risk.

Slowly, stubbornly, the king marched on with the hobbit tucked against his chest.

After walking for a while Thorin spotted what looked like a cave, which meant shelter from the elements. It was only small, more like a dent in the landscape really, but regardless the king carried Bilbo over and gently laid him down with his back supported by the rocky walls.

His colour was still a shade too light to be good, but a little colour had returned to his mouth and ears.

The dwarf put his hands on Bilbo’s shoulders and his callused hands were big enough to wrap completely around the smaller creatures neck. He then found himself thinking of what had occurred on the ledge, and his rage boiled in the pit of his stomach.

The ugly voice was awakened:

Do it

Make it quick

Who would know?

_I would_

Suddenly Bilbo began to stir, and his head lolled to one side. “Thorin…” he rasped.

Thorin bit his lip. “We’re safe.”

“Did… did Gandalf get us lost again?”

The dwarf felt an uncomfortable lump in his throat as the hobbit gave him a lopsided smile.

“Stupid wizard… don’t tell him I said so…”

Thorin tried his best not to let his face show his emotions. “I won’t.”

Bilbo huffed, then his head drooped and he quiet again. Thorin too wished he could sleep, but he had much to think about.  


	14. For if the dark returns

Bilbo was falling.

It was dark.

He couldn’t feel his fingers.

He thought he saw Thorin’s face, and then there was nothingness.

Then he blinked awake, well, not really awake per say, more like he opened his eyes and found that he was not in the water more. 

Bilbo’s body felt light, like a leaf on an autumn breeze, and the hobbit found that he felt strangely at peace for the first time in a good while.

He had been transported to some sort of ethereal plane, not heaven, and not hell either. Somehow the ambiguity of the place made him more uneasy than if he was sent to burn in hellfire. Everything was shrouded in a thick, wispy white mist so Bilbo could not see more than a few yards in front of him. The ground under his toes felt soft, as if he was standing on wet grass but when he looked down he could not see his feet.

He knew not whether he should wonder around or stay where he was, everywhere looked the same, so how could he get lost?

All of sudden, the mist to his right began to shift, as if a great animal was stalking in the shadows. The hobbit tensed, wandering if one could really be harmed in the… afterlife? Limbo?

Just where _was_ he?

Instead of an Orc or Warg leaping from the fog, the thick air settled into a shape that looked like a man, but was too small in size to be one. The shape’s soft edges curved and morphed and eventually the mist fell away until Bilbo could see pale skin, soft eyes, and curly hair.

He was staring at himself, a younger version that is, who still had that kind twinkle in expression. He looked very much as the hobbit once did before Gandalf had come to his gate.

The other him had a pipe, and he puffed it with a smile.

“…hello.” Bilbo said, not sure what he should say.

“Good morning” replied the reflection, thick with irony.

“It’s not really.”

“Oh dear, why is that?” asked the other Bilbo, gently concerned.

“We’re dying.”  The first hobbit replied, deadpan and not amused.

The other him gave him a reassuring look. “No we’re not, I’d know if we were. You can trust me on that one.”

Bilbo frowned. “I suppose it was too much to ask.”

The ghost hobbit chewed his pipe thoughtfully, and they stood in silence for a spell.

“Who are you?”   

The other him titled his head and put his hands in his pockets. “Don’t you remember? I’m the one you locked away.”

Bilbo felt a strange pang of melancholy come over him.

“The Ring, it whispered to me, it said it would be better if…”

The reflection sighed heavily. “Yes, well, that didn’t turn out very well for us, and I’ve been so lonesome in here.”

Where was here?

“But we got our revenge.” Bilbo added.

“Revenge? Are we a vengeful creature now? That’s new.”

“Everyone likes revenge.” The first hobbit didn’t sound so sure, this place made him confused and light headed.

The other him chuckled, then blew a perfect circle of smoke into the air. “If you say so, old chap and about the Ring…”

At the mention of it, Bilbo began to pat his pockets looking for just that ring.

“I wouldn’t bother, it’s lost.”

 _“Lost?”_   Bilbo spluttered; surly his prized weapon had not abandoned him now.

“Good thing I say.” Considered the other him “May have been a nice to have, but not very nice to _own_ , if you catch my drift. Besides, it’s so much quieter in here since you dropped it… and the fog is reseeding- see?” he indicated towards Bilbo’s feet, which he could indeed now see the fury tops of.

“Is that… good?” Bilbo asked.

The reflection grinned around his pipe. “It bodes well for what’s ahead.” He then looked serious. “It’s time you woke up, my friend.”

 In an instant several black misshapen silhouettes immerged from behind the other him and set upon Bilbo like a wolf pack, swallowing him whole and he felt himself falling again.

Numbness.

The crackling of a fire was the first thing the hobbit heard, and he waited for his other senses to return to him. He wasn’t cold any longer, but too be honest he felt _nothing,_ just tiredness and maybe heat from the nearby flames. He soon was asleep.

When he awoke again, he was less tired, and he had the strength to shift from his stiff, painful position. But his torso throbbed as he did so, indicating that he had either broken or cracked ribs. When the hobbit’s eyelids fluttered, something nearby stirred, and Bilbo heard the sound of a deep voice muttering in hushed tones and there was soft fur brushing against his cheek; sleep soon claimed him again.

By the the third time most of his wits had returned and Bilbo was determined to open his eyes and figure out what had befallen him. His lips were dry, so he licked them, and the hobbit remembered his hurt ribs so was careful how he moved.

The light was dim when Bilbo cracked open an eye, so he guessed it was evening or at least afternoon time. Gently he opened the other eye, and took in everything. The hobbit was sheltered in some sort of tiny cave; near his feet was a makeshift campfire although it to was quite small. He was stuffed in a corner, probably the best place to hide from the elements, and he was bundled into a large, thickly furred coat.

His awakening attracted the attention of a dark figure that was looming outside the cave’s entrance. When it approached, Bilbo recognised with an inner sigh of irritation the dark locks and braids of Thorin Oakenshield.

Thorin caught the hobbit’s eye and stilled, as if waiting for trouble. Bilbo did neither say nor do anything, and Thorin took that as permission to come close, too _close._

The hobbit instinctively pressed himself further into the rock, but it was no good. The dwarf was centimetres away from Bilbo, Blue eyes burning, and it would not take much for him to choke or stab or slit his throat…

The water-skin caught him by surprise.

The little leather bag was raised to his lips before he could protest. Bilbo was sure he’d swallowed enough water to last a life time but at least this water wouldn’t drown him… hopefully, he didn’t know how many water-skin’s Thorin had hidden away.

“Eugh.” Bilbo groaned, voice rough with lack of use. “What happened?”

“Drink.” Thorin urged, keeping a stony look. If he was relived he didn’t show it.

The hobbit complied but then repeated his question.

“We fell into the river, you almost drowned, I got you out but you were out of it for almost a day.”

That was lot of information to absorb, and Bilbo still wasn’t right in himself. Frustrated, he growled under his breath.

“I hate it… _so_ much.”

Thorin raised a dark eyebrow.

“The water, hobbits can’t _swim_.”

“Evidently.” Replied the King, dryly.

The hobbit could have kicked the dwarf right in the private parts, but what little energy he had was rapidly leaving him and just keeping his head up was a struggle. He resided not to try and sneak away just now, he needed time to heal and he felt that the dwarf had things he wished to discuss; for better or for worse.

Somehow drowing in a freezing cold river did not seem like such a bad fate.

“Sleep if you need to.” Thorin half ordered.

Bilbo was drifting, but he managed to bite out a retort before the world went black on him again.

“This is your fault…”

“…… I know.”

The hobbit then dreamed of a hand in his hair, and of a warm hole in the ground.


	15. Crashed Into This Lonely Town

Thorin Oakenshield was conflicted.

The flames of the campfire did little to warm his body or soul as he huddled over it, mind well and truly elsewhere.

He had no idea he was, this part of his territory was strange to him. The kings before him had never saw this patch of rocky hills and scrub as much use, so never called for maps to be made of it. Thorin cursed quietly to himself in Khudzal.

Just a few steps away lay Bilbo Baggins, formally the Lord of the Hillside, king of thieves, and the one who had tried to… he didn’t want to think that Bilbo would have _murdered_ his nephews, but he can’t deny what he saw with his own eyes.

His eyes had seen some strange things in the last two days.

For one, the Hobbit apparently had the power to become invisible. That fact alone was enough to keep Thorin from resting and always keeping one eye on Bilbo at all times. He wasn’t aware that hobbit’s possessed magic, and the ex burglar had never mentioned any sort of power when the company was travelling to Erabor.

Although, it would certainly explain how he escaped the goblin caves.

Even now, the hobbit continued to surprise him; but perhaps not in a good way.

The first few hours after he pulled him from were tense as the dwarf thought he may in fact lose the small creature to hyperthermia. Thorin had little knowledge of healing beyond setting bones and cleaning scratches, so all he could try to do was keep Bilbo warm and try and get some food and water into him.

The king tried to keep his work clinical, dealing with his basic needs as he would have done for any other injured dwarf. But the longer he spent gently caring for Bilbo, seeing his frail form curled up in his furred coat, the more and more his old passions for his one began to smoulder again.

For the moment, it was more of a tingly heat, the kind you would get after you came indoors from a cold day and immediately went to sit by the fire. Not painful, but persistent, _insistent._

Thorin knew not how to proceed when the hobbit eventually returned to the land of the living. He doubted he had the patience in him to deal with a raving, bad tempered Bilbo. If attacked again the dwarf doubted he would be able to retrain himself when the smaller creature clearly had no qualms about doing harm to Thorin.

Was it madness? Like the gold sickness that had plagued his family?

There was something eerily familiar in the way the hobbit had stood upon his dragon pile of stolen treasures, and pointed his sword at the one he used to admire. It was like looking into a dark mirror, and maybe Thorin was a hypocrite to judge. Surely, if anything, he should be sympathetic, for he fully understood what it was in be simply a puppet to the darkest desires of his nature. His eyes still flickered to long over anything with a golden sheen.

Bilbo twitched, and stirred into awareness. The king went over with his water skin and some berries he managed to forage (not for himself, he had no appetite) and was at the hobbit’s side just as he managed to open his eyes.

“Am I still here?” murmured the hobbit, sounding peeved.

Thorin huffed, and stilled the smaller creature with a hand on his leg. “Yes, don’t move, you have cracked two ribs.”

Technically, It had been the dwarf that had cracked Bilbo’s ribs when trying to revive him, but he thought it best to keep that information to himself.

“Falling from a _cliff_ will do that to a chap I suppose.”

The king ignored the hobbit’s jibe, and took a mental note the smaller creature’s pallor hadn’t improved despite him being more alert and energetic than he had been for hours. Thorin wondered what long term effect living in a dark hovel with no sunlight had on the once cheery ex burglar’s health.

Bilbo rolled his neck from side to side until there was a gross crack and Thorin cringed. He did so hate it when folk did that.

The hobbit kept trying to adjust himself without further damaging his midsection, and the dwarf almost offered his help, but thought better of it as he noticed the icy look Bilbo gave him as he edged closer. It was almost funny how that frosty look could have melted steel.

“Just so you now, I don’t appreciate being interfered with when I’m sleeping.”

The dwarf tensed his jaw. “You had wounds, I treated them.”

He supposed that he would not get a thank you for his care.

“And you had to remove my clothes for that did you?”

“ _Yes._ ” Thorin growled, temper rising.

The hobbit showed no fear whatsoever; if anything he looked unimpressed with Thorin’s display.

He sniffed, and then smirked with mischief. “People will start to talk.”

The king let out a noise that was half way between a grumble and a sigh, and folded his legs under him so he was sitting cross legged at Bilbo’s side; The Orcrist was in reaching distance. He plucked a few of the red berries he had found from the bunch and handed them to the hobbit, perhaps a little too optimistic that they’d be eaten without a fuss.

“What are those?” asked the smaller creature suspiciously.

“Berries.”

The hobbit rolled his eyes. “Obviously, if you’re trying to poison me you’re not being very subtle about it.”

Alas, any optimism Thorin had was firmly kicked off its pony and trampled on by trolls. The king matched Bilbo’s upturned nose with his own sour look.

“I’m not trying to poison you Halfling, I _assure_ you, these are perfectly safe, I ate some earlier to be sure.”

The hobbit tucked his body into a tight ball, pain flashing across his face when he tugged the furry coat up to his chin.

“I am not hungry.” He declined almost politely.

Thorin frowned; he would have thought that the king of thieves would be a better liar. His gaze drifted over the hobbit’s thin, clammy skin and prominent cheek bones.

“You are thin.”

“And you’re fatter than I remember.”

Had the hobbit always had such a _mouth_ on him?

The king could have easily slapped Bilbo, or shoved the wretched berries down his impertinent little Halfling throat. His hand quaked slightly with bottled up anger, and he slowly withdrew it and clenched his fist tightly at his side; crushing the sweet fruit in his palm.

“Very well.” Thorin spat through clenched teeth and went off to chop firewood or find more food, just so he wasn’t tempted to punch the hobbit in the jaw. The juice from the berries dribbled down his fingers and onto the ground as he marched away.

He discarded the fruit with the flick of his hand and it landed with a wet smack on the bark of a nearby tree. Thorin looked down at his palm, and found that it was stained red and his mind drifted back to his and Bilbo’s earlier confrontation. From his brain a voice spoke up:

He wants to fight with you. He wants this, don’t give in to it.

Be better; show him that you are better.

The King calmed himself by counting backwards from ten and closing his eyes, a trick Blain had taught him. For he could not face the hobbit in a rage, and then the smaller creature would have the upper hand. He would be the reasonable one and Thorin would be the mad beast; a gold sick mad beast.

It would not be so.

However long it would take for his men to find him, it was going to feel like an _eternity._

Now, how to get hobbit to eat…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both of these two are awkward balls of sexual tension >.


	16. That Shadow Upon The Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this next part jumps back in time a bit.

Watching his Uncle and Bilbo spiral downwards into the river was one of the hardest things Fili had to watch. On instinct he grabbed his brother to stop Kili from diving after them, and he howled and thrashed in Fili's grip.

The two peered over the ledge, a vain attempt to see where the hobbit and their uncle had fallen; but they had already been carried off.

"No!" Kili cried at the rushing water.

Fili felt light headed as the last few moments flashed in front of his eyes and he struggled to comprehend it all. He had many questions needing answers:

Why was Bilbo here?

Why did he attack he and Kili?

What did Uncle know of this?

The last one was the most disquieting. The Dwarf King had clearly been keeping a secret from Fili and his brother, from everyone in the kingdom. It made Fili's anger rise to the surface where normally it lay hidden under cheerfulness and calm.

Bilbo clearly hadn't just left Erabor, something had happened; something terrible.

"Fee?" questioned Kili, worried at his brother's blank expression and silence.

"Kee." Fili started. "Listen to me, This is going to sound insane, but we can't tell anyone what he just saw."

"What?! why?!" cried Kili.

"Listen. I-I think Uncle's been lying to us, about Bilbo."

The brown haired dwarf frowned. "How? How did he?"

Fili swallowed. "Remember how Bilbo just disappeared off the face of Arda? With no word? Not even a letter to say goodbye?"

Kili nodded. "Of course, that was right strange."

Fili took his brother by the shoulder and brought him close. "Yes, it was, and Unlce couldn't look us in the eye for days… I thought there was something, but I kept it to myself, now we're all suffering because of it-"

Kili looked thoroughly bewildered. "What Fee? What did Uncle  _do_?"

The golden haired Prince's grip tightened on his brother's shoulder. I think… I think Uncle sent Bilbo away."

As soon as the words had left his mouth a heavy, knowing silence settled upon the normally boisterous dwarves. Something was certainly wrong here, and it wasn't just the lingering stench of the thieves nest now empty.

"Why would he do that?" asked Kili, pale faced and eyes frantic. "Bilbo was our  _friend_."

Fili shook his head, unable to find the answer. "I know not. But I do know is that we need to gather the others and organise a search, if they are still alive, we'll find them."

Kili didn't have to agree, he and Fili immediately rushed down the rock face of the ledge and headed towards where Thorin's men were gathering; no doubt to make a note of injuries, and possible fatalities. Lucky for the Durin sons, there appeared to be none that day; only one or two of the enemy had perished.

A realisation came to Fili as they walked up, and he suddenly grabbed his brother by the arm and pulled him to one side; out of the sight of their old company.

"What now fee?!" Kili demanded. "We need to-"

"We can't tell them what happened on the ledge."

"What? why not?!"

Fili made shushing noises and waved his hands in way that said 'be quiet'.

"Why  _can't_  we, Fee?" whispered the brown haired archer, with irritation thick in his voice.

Fili leaned in very close to his sibling's face so that his beard brushed against Kili's stubble.

"Use your head Kili, If we tell them what happened, they'll hunt Bilbo down… they'll, they'll hurt his Kee. He committed treason by attacking us, Dwalin will-"

The golden haired prince didn't even want to comprehend what the biggest dwarf would do to the being that tried to harm the princes, and kidnapped and tried to kill his king. The Halfling would be branded a traitor scum, only fit to be torn apart by wargs.

"Well. I'd rather not say. But I don't want to have to hurt Bilbo… not until we find out what exactly went on between him and Uncle. None of this makes any sense…" his sentence drifted off as Fili's mind went around in tailspins to try and grasp the Bilbo-Thorin situation.

He didn't know how such a good, peaceful being such as their Hobbit came to be so full of wrath, who instead of embracing the dwarves who he had taken in him in as kin would instead point the tip of his sword at their hearts, and mutter only curses.

" _I say, Mister Boggins!"_

"… _Baggins Kili, Baggins."_

" _That's what he said!"_

" _Never mind, how may I be of help my dears?"_

" _It's about Uncle."_

" _O-oh yes?"_

" _He's been most peculiar lately."_

" _In what way?"_

" _Well. He keeps smiling, like he's… happy or some such."_

" _Most bizarre."_

" _Frightening, even."_

" _Oh honestly! How I put up with you two I don't know."_

The eldest brother could not imagine what had caused such a change in their hobbit friend, of course, a lot can happen in a year and a half, it had taken Thorin's trusted company that long to reach the lonely mountain.

Bilbo had never been the sort to go looking for trouble, but trouble did seem to find him. Maybe that is how the hobbit came across the gang of bad characters, but what would they want with a hobbit? And one with such a compassionate disposition as their ex burglar?

Fili preyed to his fore father's that their old friend had not been… tortured in anyway. Not burned with hot prongs or cut with knife blades, so that his captures may gain the secrets of the Dwarf King and his heirs.

Kili's voice cut off Fili's rather unsettling train of thought. "Okay, say we do this Fee, say we  _lie_  to cover up Uncle's lies-"

"We're not covering up anything!" snapped Fili. "This isn't for Uncle, it's for Bilbo, we're protecting Bilbo."

Kili narrowed his dark eyes and set his jaw in a way that reminded Fili too much of their mother. Then he crossed his arms and muttered something that sounded like 'fine' under his breath. Fili let his mouth curve into a small reassuring smile, then dropped to a neutral expression as the pair trotted over to Dwalin and the others.

"Boys! Where are you two been? Where is our errand King?" Dwalin booms.

Fili and Kili exchanged the most brief of glances before Fili spoke. "Dwalin, Uncle is in danger, we were on a high place and… and he fell into the river."

The old company erupted into cries of shock and angry confusion.

"How did this happen?!" Dwalin roared.

Fili swallowed and chose his next words very carefully. "We met up on a ledge, but it wasn't as stable as we thought and Uncle lost his footing and fell."

"Does he yet live?" asked Balin solemnly.

"I think so, Uncle is a good swimmer" Confirmed Kili.

"Thank Mahal for small mercies." Muttered Dwalin.

"That's not all…" Fili added. "Bilbo was with him."

The whole group of dwarves exploded into a chorus of 'WHAT?'

"Bilbo, he appeared out of nowhere… w-we think maybe we being held captive, we didn't get to speak as he fell too."

"Not out burglar!" someone yelled out.

"Bilbo? Here?" questioned Bofur, then the dwarf turned white. "The lad can't swim!"

The old company began to buzz anxiously as they worried for their king and their Hobbit friend.

Fili let out a quiet sigh of relief, and beside him Kili shifted somewhat nervously.

"This is no time for chit chat! Everyone, break into pairs and scan the area, if we follow the river we should come across them eventually. Let's just hope we haven't lost our king to the water."

At Dwalin's command the dwarves split off and the search for the lots King Under The Mountain and his Burglar was soon underway.

Fili just hoped that he and Kili found the pair first… and that they hadn't killed each other in the meantime.


	17. You Know I Saw A City Burning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I just want to thank you all for your continuing support! You guys inspire me! Also, would anyone be interests if I created an ask blog for Lord Under The Hill!Bilbo? the narrative wouldn’t necessarily follow the story, and I would go deeper in to the background of the Thieves’ band and how Bilbo came to be in charge. I’m not that good of an artist, so if any of you are willing to co work in the blog with me I’d be delighted to have your help! Just putting it out there for now ^^ thank you.

The atmosphere in the little camp was thick with things unsaid.

Bilbo’s and Thorin’s interactions were kept as brief as they could manage, full of snapping and long, angry looks. But the Dwarf was unrelenting in his quest to keep the hobbit alive, for what reason Bilbo couldn’t fathom.

Surly Thorin should just save himself the trouble and leave him here in the wilderness? It wasn’t like he’d be killing him directly, just leaving Bilbo to perish in his own time. When he suggested this notion aloud to the King, the dwarf simply gave him a disappointed glare.

The downright audacity of it was enough to make ex burglar seethe. Who was Thorin Oakenshield, gold mad King under the Mountain, whose recklessness nearly cost the lives of Fili, Kili and himself to judge Bilbo?

“Self-righteous git” mumbled the hobbit. Thorin pretended to be this noble. Self sacrificing being but really he loved the praise and the finery that came with being a hero of legendary stature. Not that he actually _did_ much on the journey to the Lonely Mountain, apart from almost die a lot and shout at things.

 He watched the dwarf pot around the camp, trying to keep occupied so that he wouldn’t have to talk to Bilbo.  But really, he had already gone for firewood twice today, cleaned his sword more than six times and there was more than enough game for them to eat. Thorin wasn’t fooling anyone.

Eventually, they would have to speak, but the hobbit waited for that occasion as one would wait for an amputation; not very joyfully. But if he was honest with himself, Bilbo would admit that he hated silence.

It filled you up and dragged you down into despair. 

He’d had more than his far share after his Ma and Fa had perished in that horrid accident. Bag End had seemed not like a comfortable home but a hollow shell of what used to be a place of happiness, of comfort. His cries echoed off the walls and came back to him; he was quite alone.

Ah, Bilbo had forgotten, he’d never made it back to his old hobbit hole. He wondered what had become of it. The Sackville-Baggins’ had wanted Bag End for years, ever since Bilbo had inherited for no small amount of outcry from them. They said he was too young, and that one of Lobelia’s pig faced children (who were not that much older mind) should ‘safeguard’ the place until Bilbo came of age. But the hobbit knew better, and despite only being 32 convinced the Thrain that he should be allowed to live in the house of his parents.

His relatives were not best pleased, and they sure to give him an outcast among the Shirefolk, making him feel even more isolated from the world, very much without company.

He had company now, in the physical sense, but Thorin and Bilbo might as well of been on opposite ends of Arda. Neither one was truly wanting to cross the mire of past events to greet each other in the present.

Bilbo was thankful at least for the warm weather, although the Lonely Mountain did tend to have a milder climate than the shire, this particular spring was pleasant thus far.

“Lovely day.” He commented absentmindedly.

“Tis.” Thorin rumbled.

Bilbo looked up; he hadn’t been expecting an answer. “It speaks!” 

The king did not replay this time; he seemed tired, but still rolled his eyes.

“Oh come on, Thorin” Said Bilbo dryly. “You must have things you wish to get off that chest of yours.”

“Aye.” The dwarf murmured; busying himself his hands by cleaning his boots with a rag.

“I’ve said my bit.” The hobbit continued. “You, however, seem to have become even worse at communicating than when I left your kingdom.”

Of course, he didn’t _leave_ at all, they were both aware of that, and it was satisfying to see Thorin’s hand still for a second.

The king glowered at the hobbit from across the camp. “Aye.”

“Is that all you have to say?” Bilbo asked, aggravated.

A small, flicker of a grin ghosted over Thorin’s face. “Aye.”

Despite his injuries, the hobbit threw his hands in the air with an infuriated flourish. “For the sweet love of creation-! Will someone please rid me of all dwarves?!”

The King of said Dwarves raised a half amused eyebrow at the hobbit. “That’s a pretty hefty request.”

“I- AHH!” Something pulled painfully in Bilbo’s side and he clutched at his wounds. “My ribs.” He whimpered.

Thorin abandoned his boot cleaning and rushed over to check to see if the hobbit had worsened his injuries. “You idiot Halfling!” He barked but he still with carful hands checked Bilbo’s bandaged side.

“You’re the idiot! And I am not half of anything –Look what you’ve done to me!” The hobbit growled, jerking away from Thorin.

“What _I-?_ ” The dwarf asked, indignant. “This is all _you’re_ doing!”

Bilbo let a burst of curses and threw his head back, narrowly avoiding knocking himself out on the hard cave wall.

“I can see clearly now…” he said wistfully, breath short. “The cause of all my pain…”

“And what may that be?” queried the king, deadpan.

“Dwarves.” Bilbo drew out the word and curled his lip in distaste. “Dwarves are the bringers of my misfortune; it makes so much sense now… why did I even answer my door?”

“Your mind is gone.” Thorin said simply, as he readjusted the hobbit’s bandages, not in the mood for any nonsense.

“I mean _really_ think about it, everything bad that ever happened to me came straight after you lot turned up.”

“Gone like the dragon from Erabor.”

“Apart from my parents of course-”

“What happened to your parents?” asked the king, trying to deflect the hobbit from this chain of complaints about his kind.

“Oh.” Bilbo faltered “They were torn to pieces by wolves.”

Thorin stopped his fiddling, and slowly raised his head to look into the hobbit’s face with shocked eyes.

“What? have you never seen two hobbits ripped to shreds before?” the ex-burglar’s mouth quirked upwards into a twisted sort of smile. 

Thorin didn’t avert his gaze, but his expression betrayed slight discomfort. “You shouldn’t talk about them that way; it is disrespectful to their memory.”

Bilbo was incensed and he lurched forward to snarl into the dwarf’s face. “They were my parents! I’ll talk about them how I like-  AHH” His ribs gave another painful stab at his movement, he felt as if he’d been kicked in the abdomen by someone wearing pointed boots.

“Will you stop moving?!” snapped Thorin. “You’ll tear yourself up again!” With a forceful hand he pushed the hobbit back down to a sitting position.

The king’s hand was warm and it leaked through Bilbo’s shirt to his skin but could not quite reach the ice that had collected around his heart.

“Oin was far better at this.” Bilbo said around a wince. “At least he didn’t hobbit-handle his patients.”

Thorin looked about ready to strangle a bear. “I wouldn’t have to hobbit-handle you, _Halfling_ , if you would just stop trying to throw yourself at me like a bad hound.”

Bilbo snorted. “Trust me, I know better than to throw myself at the likes of you.” The innuendo in his statement was not hidden in the slightest.

The dwarf smiled a humourless smile. “There should be no more problems then, should there?”

“Oh, I think your problems are just starting my dear.” Bilbo said, leaning in to Thorin’s face so that there foreheads touched. He stared into those blue eyes that were like an endless sky on a summer’s day.

“Pray that your kin find us soon, before I heal, before I have the chance to repay you for my dip in the river.”

“Don’t make idle threats, hobbit.”

“I never do.”

 


	18. If This Is To End In Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all ^^ my tumble account is here http://amberthepirate.tumblr.com
> 
> Ps. Fixed the inconsistency with the ring, yes Bilbo had lost it in the river, I'd forgotten XD

 

 

_“Pray that your kin find us soon, before I heal, before I have the chance to repay you for my dip in the river.”_

Thorin had never been described as a dwarf of a nervous disposition. He left that to Ori.

Self doubt was dangerous, especially in a leader of dwarves, so he always made sure to have faith in his own abilities. He had maybe a little too much faith when he was younger, but losing his home, father, and brother to the worst of evil kicked any over confidence right out of Thorin. In its place was a realistic, if perhaps grim view on life and also a thickened skin.

Thorin wasn’t quick to feel fear, and was even less quick to admit when he did, but the hobbit’s words sent chills down his spine that he had not felt since facing down the White Orc. He was not afraid exactly, more just apprehensive, but all the same he slept with one eye open and one hand on his sword.

Then Bilbo disappeared.

Thorin had been out collected dry twigs for their meagre little fire, and noticed that his coat was left strewn on the ground without a bad tempered hobbit curled inside it. He stilled, and without having to look around the king could see that Bilbo was gone.

Panic sparked in his insides, and he threw down the sticks and drew his sword. He spun on his heel so the he back was facing the fire instead of the dark wilderness where the hobbit could be hiding. The dwarf’s ears were perked and his heart pounded uncomfortably hard against his ribs.

Any noise, any little scurry of a mouse or flutter of bird’s wings made Thorin twitch and grip his weapon tightly in readiness.

He’d then remembered that Bilbo could turn _invisible._

Mahal save him, how could he fight against an enemy he couldn’t even see?

Sweat collected in beads on his brow and dripped down Thorin’s forehead as his sharp eyes scanned the rock hillside for any flicker of movement, anything at all that would give the cunning little creature away.

The last thing he expected was for Bilbo to clumsily appear from nowhere and bump into him.

The king jumped two feet in the air and swung the Orcrist in any and all directions while howling like a mad thing.

“FOR CREATOR’S SAKE PUT THAT AWAY BEFORE YOU DECAPATATE THE BOTH OF US!” bellowed the hobbit, ducking with his hands over his head. How much protection they would be from a sharpened blade was of little consequence.

Thorin stopped, but still kept the sword held aloft just in case. “Where in Mahal’s name did you sneak off too you undersized burglar?! I thought-“

“I went to a take a _piss_ if you must know, you _oversized_ oaf!” snapped the hobbit, teeth barred.  “And I rushed back to tell you some good, or in my case, bad news.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I saw Fili, and Balin” Said Bilbo levelly “They are only feet away from us.”

Thorin didn’t need that information repeating, he lowered his blade and called loudly into the air. “BALIN! KILI!”

He waited, and from somewhere to his right he heard muffled calls. Bilbo was right, Balin and Kili were close, close enough to hear but not to see yet, but it Thorin kept yelling they’d soon find each other.

The king was filled with relief and joy at the sound of his nephew and old friend’s voice and at last there seemed to be an end to his troubles for the moment.

He had quite forgotten about Bilbo, and only when in the corner of his eye he saw the hobbit begin to slip away.

“Halfing.” He barked. “What are you doing?”

Bilbo glared at him. “Solving both of our problems, they don’t even need to know I was here, and you can run off and be a good little king again-“

“Don’t you dare!” Thorin ordered, he pointed the tip of his sword at the hobbit’s thin neck. “I won’t have you scuttle off to create more mischief, you are coming with me.”

Before Bilbo could protest or disappear into thin air again the king had the good sense to grab his forearm, and hold on tight. The hobbit may have picked up some new tricks but he could never pry himself free, Thorin was too strong.

“What is it with you?!” Bilbo demanded, clawing at the dwarf’s hand. “You stubborn, gold mad cretin!”

Thorin gave the hobbit a shake. “I am no longer gold sick, hobbit; I’ve got my wits about me, unlike you. I think you are the one who has lost the plot, not me.”

The hobbit stopped struggling, his gaze became unfocused and Thorin could practically hears the pieces clicking into place in Bilbo’s warped mind.

“No one will believe you.” He mocked. “About me, you think they will but your story that sweet little Bilbo was the king of thieves? Really?”  He laughed that disquieting high laugh again.

Thorin narrowed his eyes. “You attacked Kili and Fili, they won’t forget that in a hurry, I doubt they’ll lie for you.”

“But what if they do?” asked Bilbo, a bit giddy now. “What if they think they got the wrong end of the stick, that their eyes deceived them? They know nothing, _nothing.”_

The King was well and truly and the end of his patience, and he no longer cared whether his grip on Bilbo’s bicep was painful. His temper was at boiling point. “Be that as it may, if you think I’m going to let you slink away after everything you’ve done-“

“Uncle!”

Fili was standing there, eyes wide and mouth in mid gape at the scene before him.

“Uncle! _Bilbo!_ ”

“Fili!” Thorin cried, going over to embrace him nephew whilst dragging the hobbit behind him, his massive feet being scuffed by the rocky ground.

The king could only manage an awkward one armed hug for his sister-son, but it didn’t last long and Fili seemed to be far more concerned with the creature he held captive.

“Bilbo! Thank mahal! Kili said you couldn’t swim, we though you drowned!”  

The hobbit gave him a humourless smile. “No such luck my dear, your dear old Uncle wanted the pleasure of doing it himself so-“

“Quiet you!” roared that very dwarf, giving Bilbo another violent jolt. “No more venom from your mouth!”

Fili blanched. “Uncle! You’re hurting him!”

 _“Good.”_ Thorin gritted. “If you had any idea what this- this _traitor_ , this little snake in the grass has been up too since I-“

“Since you _what,_ Uncle?” Fili questioned, giving Thorin a judgmental look. “I knew something had happened, I _knew_ you lied to us!” The golden prince looked livid, and Thorin and Bilbo were both taken aback.

The King mouth went oddly dry. “I did what I thought was best at the time, I-“

“No! You had the sickness! Everything you did was tainted by that gold.” Argued Fili.

Thorin looked irate. “How dare you!  Do you not know to who you speak?! I am your _king-_ ”

“Would a King banish his one?”

The king’s face was screwed up in anger but then, slowly, his features morphed into that of a pale dread. “You know.”

“I guessed.” answered Fili, with his blue eyes sadly downcast. “Kili didn’t want to believe it… he’s so loyal to you, wouldn’t hear of it… but it makes everything so much clearer now.”

From the ground, Bilbo let out a chuckle in that back of his throat. Thorin had almost forgotten he was there. “I’m impressed. There might be some hope for the Durin line after all, Thorin.” 

“Bilbo… what happened to you?” the golden prince’s voice was soft, and his face was pleading in a way that said he desperately wanted to understand.

The hobbit huffed quietly. “How long do you have?”

It just so happens that Balin chose that moment to appear, looking just as bewildered had Fili had done.

“Bilbo?... lad is that you?”


End file.
